The Secret of the Sunstones, Book 1: The Wanton Kingdom
by jeff.howard.78
Summary: A different take on [FFIV]. There are many similarities, but I've taken the overarching story in a different direction. Combine a more adult plot, exciting backstories, brand new characters, powerful demons, warring kingdoms, and insidious villains - and a Gnostic Knight who must face his own darkness before he has any hope of saving the world from evil.
1. Overview and Forward

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**The Secret of the Sunstones**

**Book 1:**  
**The Wanton Kingdom**

_By Jeffrey Howard_

_\- Updated 6-29-2016 -_

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**wan·ton** (wŏn-tən)

_adj._

1\. Immoral or unchaste; lewd.  
2\. Gratuitously cruel; merciless.  
3\. Marked by unprovoked, gratuitous maliciousness; capricious and unjust: wanton destruction.  
4\. Unrestrainedly excessive: wanton extravagance; wanton depletion of oil reserves.  
5\. Luxuriant; overabundant: wanton tresses.

_As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods? They kill us for their sport._

\- _William Shakespeare_

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**Author's Overview / Forward**

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Hello Final Fantasy Fans and Readers,

This is my first time publishing to this site. I've been working on this project for many years - on and off since 2003. It started as a Fan Fiction for the Final Fantasy IV video game, but evolved into something very different.

I consider it a re-boot or "re-imagining". So what do I mean by that? I think a good example would be what the "Dark Knight" did to the original Batman concept (or if you go back earlier, Tim Burton's 1989 Batman was already a radically new re-imagining). Or consider what Peter Jackson did to the Lord of the Rings series. In my mind, re-imaginings can delve deeper into the concept than what the original works intended. They can bring out darker and more sinister roots, evolve or change the characters, or even fork the plot in entirely new directions.

Final Fantasy IV is one of my favorite games. When I first played it in the early '90s, it blew me away in terms of the richness and structure of the plot. However, since I'm now more than 20 years older and see the world differently, I wanted to go back and see if I can imagine the world of Final Fantasy IV into something more epic, and involved.

Given its gaming roots, I wanted to get some initial feedback from Final Fantasy fans, or even fans of the adventure/fantasy genre in general. Fans of the series will recognize similarities to the original game, but as the story line evolves, things will go in very different directions. My hope is that the reader enjoys these differences, and looks forward to how the plot and characters evolve.

Please feel free to reach out, review, criticize, and join me in discourse on how to make this better. I've seen a lot of great work on this site, and I know that there are avid readers here with extreme amounts of talent and feedback. I hope you will join me in promoting it, assuming you find it interesting enough.

I hope you enjoy my work. Thanks to everyone willing to read it.

-Jeffrey Howard

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**Updates**

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This section is to document significant changes to existing chapters. The site already does a fine job updating the story every time new chapters are added, so those will not be listed below. Note that minor updates are made on a consistent basis, based on feedback from beta-readers or reviewers. Those will not be listed below.

_7-20-2015: _I've updated Chapter 1 with a major revision, courtesy of the help from my beta-readers. I'll be updating them all, eventually.

_7-27-2015:_ I've added beta-reader attribution, below.

_8-04-2015:_ I've updated Chapter 2 with a major revision, courtesy of the help from my beta-readers. I welcome any and all feedback from readers. Hopefully you appreciate all the updates!

_9-20-2015:_ I've been working on Chapter 3 and Chapter 4 revisions. All sections have seen major overhauls, but more to come as I continue to get feedback from my beta-readers.

_10-08-2015:_ Chapter 3 has gone through significantly more polish, based on help from my beta-readers. Thanks to everyone for their inputs!

_11-25-2015:_ Chapter 5 has gone through a major overhaul, which finally completes 6 month's worth of work to refine plot content, dialogue, and story flow of Book 1. From now on (including Chapter 6), all newly posted sections will have already gone through this overhaul process. I plan to perform a final pass-through of Chapters 4 through 6 at a later time to put some final polish on it, but if you haven't read through Chapter 5 in a while, you may want to go back and take a second look. Thanks to all the recent reviewers who provided their feedback. Much of what I see in reviews, I eventually implement into the story. I'm also close to posting the last couple of sections of Chapter 6, which just leaves Chapter 7 for Book 1. Thanks to everyone who have been following the story so far. I hope to see some reviews from some of the lurkers out there. If you're reading this, and you've been reading through the story, it would make my day if you leave a review. :-)

_11-30-2015:_ Chapter 6 has been fully posted. I'll need to take a short break before moving onto Chapter 7. While you're waiting, please leave a review. :-)

_1-08-2016:_ We're in the final stretch! Lots of updates have happened over the last month. If you haven't seen this story in a long time, you'll see improvements in almost every chapter. I'm really excited about the current status, and feel this work has finally met my really high expectations. I hope others feel the same way. Don't forget to leave me some reviews. They really mean a lot to me!

_1-12-2016:_ Did anyone notice? The story has been published, in its entirety! :-D I'll continue to make updates, but only in terms of polish or in response to reader requests. I want to thank everyone who ended up following this work through its posting period, during which I made significant edits as I went (sometimes retroactively). It was an ambitious project, but now I feel I've grown as a writer, and can produce some reasonably good stuff. So, on to Book 2: The Hermetic Tower!

_3-31-2016:_ I've updated the cover art, based on an image I had commissioned by a local artist, Xilia Faye. She's awesome, and I'm happy to pass on her contact information to anyone wanting to hire her. I also updated by reader attribution section below, to include some very important thanks to faithful readers.

_6-29-2016:_ Although the story has been in "complete" status for a few months now, new updates continue to happen! I am still in a process of revisions, and everything through Chapter 6 has seen the latest edits. If you haven't been around in a while, you might want to stop by again. And if you've provided feedback in the past, you may see some of your suggestions now in place.

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**Reader Attribution**

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Thanks to everyone who provided all the excellent feedback for this story - especially those who contributed to the astounding 105 reviews on this story! My heartfelt thanks goes out to each and every one of you!

Special thanks also goes to the following, who have provided many sizable in-depth reviews:

**\- Euphonemes:** _thank you_ for the incredible detail and effort you put into each and every section. You deserve huge praise for the degree to which you've advanced the readability of this story!

\- **Spaceman Spiff:** _thank you_ for reading this fanfic from cover to cover, and providing a ton of meaningful reviews - especially the final review that was filled with encouraging compliments and praise. I can't thank you enough for motivating me to continue writing.

\- **Waging Wonder:** _thank you_ for providing numerous reviews filled with very thoughtful ideas. While I was resistant at first, I really feel like the rewrites have had a meaningful impact on the quality of the story, and I am very grateful that you have been willing to follow along and offer them. I hope to have you continue through until the very end!

**\- Shadow's Interceptor:** _thank you_ for being my first beta-reader, and for sticking with me through schoolwork and all your other conflicts. It's a huge help to get the perspective of a Final Fantasy IV fan!

**\- brycep40:** _thank you_ for being my only beta-reader to have made it to Book 2. Your feedback and compliments give me huge amounts of self-confidence!

Thanks to my other reviewers: _**soulsrepreive**_, _E.J. Wedge, MadamAerith_, _**Reasons of Heart**, **Trasson, **_and **_KorneliusPrisma_**

I also wanted to thank the following beta-readers, who provided some initial feedback on the first few chapters: _Harbinger-of-script, Emiliya Wolfe, HypotheticalEyeball, SilverNight104, Liimbo, StyxxsOmega, GodOfBananas, Flautist4ever, Nord Ronnoc, and Shaldana Blackwater_

Thanks for the insight and critical eye. I hope to hear more from you in the future!

I appreciate all of your reviews - please keep them coming! :-)

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_Thanks again, everyone! I extend my deepest respect and gratitude!_

**Thank You!**

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	2. Chapter 1: Part I

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**Chapter 1: A Prelude**

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**Part I**

_Evening of Quartus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Harvestmoon_

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The world of Gaia was filled with magic and mystery. A prosperous civilization flourished, filled with humans who busily went about their lives, unaware of the danger that lurked in their midst. Somewhere inside its thousand-year prison, a long-forgotten consciousness stirred from its ancient sleep. The time approached when it would be freed, to once again reign anarchy and destruction upon the world.

Ignorant of this threat, mankind instead focused on rebuilding their lives. After years of bitter conflict, the event referred to as "The War" had finally ended. Peace followed, and the world spun in the midst of a revolution that combined a long history of wizardry with newfound science and technology. It brought order and convenience—and best of all, prosperity to the masses.

Social and economic changes swept throughout the continent, driven in large part by the mighty empire known as Angkor. Two of its neighbors—Koba and Kitezh—had initiated the War over a border dispute, and had mounted a considerable challenge. Despite their combined advantage in size and resources, Angkor emerged victorious, largely due to the military brilliance of one man.

Bram Morrison belonged to a corps of men known as the Gnostic Knights. They were highly experienced combatants used for strategic missions. Loyal to the king and feared throughout the land, they trained to be cold-hearted killers. They made a formidable force during the War, but in the two years of peace that followed, their kingdom's dependence on them lessened. The power of the king's court shifted from the military to bankers and businessmen, who no longer considered the knights' specialization as critical to the country's future.

The kingdom still used Gnostics for covert operations and foreign intelligence, but Bram feared his career stood on the brink of obsolescence. In order to justify their continued existence, the government would invent frivolous missions to evaluate their usefulness outside of traditional duties. However, these ordeals often tested the patience of the Knights as well as the coffers of the king. With this in mind, Bram felt particularly uneasy over his latest mission.

He ran his hand through his argent colored hair, which fell in thick waves down to his shoulders. It was not a sign of age, but rather a distinctive trait since as far back as he could remember. In stark contrast, his skin had a youthful appearance with medium complexion, and his face was clean-shaven and chiseled. His build was muscular, with broad shoulders and thick forearms from years of training. He carried a strong presence with the kind of poise that turned the heads of those around him.

His features were different from other Angkorians, but he had no way to trace his heredity, since he was raised by foster parents. He had no memory of his blood parents, but the mother and father who raised him provided plenty of care and nurturing, despite having come from an impoverished village beyond the outskirts of Angkor's capital. It was a farming community, with a lifestyle of grit and moil. Bram was no stranger to hard work in his youth.

Despite humble beginnings, he hungered for strength and knowledge. Rather than commit himself to the fields, he attended the Academy—and later enlisted in the army, where he out-trained his peers and grew quickly in rank. In only a few years, he became one of the youngest to reach the rank of Gnostic.

It came with the benefit of captaining his own personal aircraft. Bram's ship was an early design, modeled after ships of the sea. It included brandished white masts, wooden hulls, and on-deck cannons—everything a person might expect from a machine that doubled as a sea-faring vessel, except that it could race through the sky at great speeds. A precise combination of science and wizardry kept it afloat, and although newer models sported even more marvelous innovations, Bram preferred the speed and agility that made _the_ _Heron_ the envy of the king's fleet.

Bram had a personal history with Angkor's king. It began years ago when he served as ensign under the command of General Richard Cromwell. That year, Angkor's monarch—along with the heir—died in a supposed traveling accident. Political chaos ensued, and Angkor's most powerful and influential vied for control. General Cromwell used his military expertise and impeccable war record to make a move for the Crown. After eliminating his opponents, Richard became the first king in Angkor's short history to have originated outside the royal family.

Though Bram and Richard shared a strong history, the new king grew increasingly distant following the War's end. He shifted alliances to those who furthered his ambitions, and seemed to lose interest in old loyalties. In the past, Bram picked and chose his own missions, but now various layers of bureaucracy altered the chain of command. He no longer reported directly to his liege, but rather through a series of middlemen, each less trustworthy than the last. And finally, he faced the culmination of all his distaste and frustration.

At first, his mission statement read more like an errand, but for reasons he did not understand, it was given the highest priority. By special writ, he was ordered to escort a newly appointed chancellor to a region known as Minoa, which lay across the Great Ocean. Here was a village far from Angkor's interests, holding little else but the resident wizards, as well as the scores of refugees who ended up there after the War. In most cases, Bram maintained a genuine respect for these old scholars, but the ones in Minoa held no allegiance to any political leader. Instead, they followed some kind of village elder who remained forever hidden from public view.

He considered what might have suddenly attracted King Richard's interest to this pitiful village on the Southern Continent. He knew of just one possibility—an old artifact known as a sunstone, which had once been worshipped as having a divine connection with the Goddess of the planet. Minoa was one of four dwellings of these so-called sacred objects. Although believers of Gaia maintained a testament of the sunstones' powers, many respected scholars had researched the artifacts over the centuries and produced no such evidence. Bram did not believe the stories either, but he knew of nothing else that would have drawn King Richard's attention.

The nations of Kitezh and Koba each held their own sunstones, but if these objects held any intrinsic powers, they did nothing to help these countries during the War. Both once stood as mighty empires, but Angkor defeated their militaries and shattered their economies. Although King Richard allowed their prior rulers to maintain governance, the nations themselves became puppets to his influence. Vineta—home of the eight clerics—housed the final sunstone. It was a country far on the outskirts of the continent, with an economy too small to engage in political relations.

Bram once thought the same of Minoa. He saw little value from a sty adorned with living conditions that only Angkor's livestock would envy. Clearly, King Richard would not have sent his most venerable resources, unless there was something of high value—but if it were not for the sunstone, then what else? Bram made it a policy never to start a mission based on vague orders, but he could not avoid it this time, and it left him feeling anxious.

From his personal quarters, he calmed his mind by staring out the window of his aircraft. He sat at an old oak desk, letting the disappearing rays of a setting sun warm his skin, while taking in deep breaths of crisp ocean air. From a thousand spans above the water, he watched as delicate waves reflected slivers of sunlight that danced in a myriad of golden hues. The view never failed to elicit a sense of wonder.

His meditation was interrupted by a pounding on the door. It was rude and deliberate—the harbinger of an impatient visitor. He tore himself from the view to beckon the person inside.

"Come in."

A middle-aged man stormed through the door, dressed in dark silken robes with golden embroidery. His long, blond hair was pulled back and slick, and his high cheekbones and carefree expression suited his role as a mid-ranking politician. His name was Virgil Garvey, and he was the very same chancellor whom Bram was ordered to escort to Minoa. A prideful air surrounded him, and he never even bothered to ask forgiveness for barging in uninvited.

"Captain, it's time I revealed the details of the mission."

Bram had waited long enough for this briefing, and felt it apt to make his displeasure known. "It's about time, Mister Garvey. Your orders may supersede mine for the time  
being—having come directly from the king—but you'd best learn quickly not to keep a Gnostic waiting."

"There's no need for formalities, _Abraham_. My orders do indeed come directly from His Majesty, and you'd best remember that."

Bram did not appreciate the tone of disrespect, much less the condescending use of his birth name. Gnostic Knights stood at the highest rank, and for the most part they achieved respect through fear and intimidation. Perhaps it was the look of arrogance in the chancellor's face that angered Bram the most. He knew he would hold very little influence over this subordinate.

"First tell me why we're here," Bram began. "What is King Richard's interest in a place like Minoa?"

"You mean to say you haven't surmised?" Virgil returned with an unmistakable smirk. He clearly enjoyed pulling rank with his temporary status and privileged information.

Bram's tone darkened, wondering what game the chancellor was playing. He contained his indignation and pressed for further details. "I presume we're here for the sunstone, though last I heard from the Angkorian government, the sunstones were—and I quote— 'Nothing more than tawdry ornaments of a dead religion.' Richard would not have sent a force of our might to strip Minoan zealots of a worthless icon."

He spoke of the Gaian Priests, an ancient organization, but one whose teachings had recently grown in popularity following in the War's end. This was especially true in areas such as Minoa, which accepted refugees who had been displaced in the aftermath of battles on the Northern Continent. Like most others, Bram found it irrational to put his faith in a faceless deity—but even so, he acknowledged the desperation brought about by the horrors of war.

He continued, his tone cynical. "Am I now to believe that Angkor wishes to research the sunstones, even while countless others have failed? How much is Richard willing to throw forth in resources, just to arrive at the same conclusion? Or have you somehow unearthed new information?"

As Bram intended, the remark caused a reaction. It lasted only a moment, and was nothing more than a twitch of Virgil's brow, but he knew how to notice such subtleties. "Don't be presumptuous," the chancellor responded curtly, clearly hiding something. "Besides, the details are classified. All you need to know is that the sunstone is our objective, and King Richard is willing to expend any cost necessary to retrieve it."

Bram nearly broke out in laughter before he realized the chancellor was serious. Virgil's darkening mood added to the gravity in the room.

"What kind of fool do you take me for, Mister Garvey? I'm a Gnostic Knight, in command of Richard's most elite squadron. His Majesty would not deploy us for such a trivial bounty, and I demand the truth. Why are we _really_ here? We haven't lived through war to become gambits in someone's political game."

"This is _not_ a game, Mister Morrison," Virgil returned in a level tone, "and you'd do well to take it more seriously. I'll only state that our intelligence in this matter has been well vetted."

Bram could no longer tolerate Virgil's obliqueness. "I've had enough of your bureaucracy! I deserve to know the truth, and I'll not be disrespected by a mere chancellor! I demand you answer me truthfully, or so help me—"

He had not intended to lose control, but his voice was filled with anger. The chancellor's eyes narrowed. "I don't take orders from _you_, Mister Morrison—and neither does King Richard need to inform his Gnostics of every detail. If I were you, I'd put some trust in my liege, and carry out this mission without further insubordination."

With that said, Virgil stalked toward the door. Before leaving, he looked over his shoulder and tossed out a final remark. His forefinger pointed accusingly. "Remember where you came from, _Gnostic_. You didn't start your life in Angkor's good graces. If you're not careful, you'll have nothing to protect you!"

The thinly veiled threat left Bram speechless. He scarcely believed that a man of his rank could muster such audacity—but Virgil quickly departed, slamming the door shut behind him.

Disrespect of this magnitude was unheard of to a Gnostic Knight. Anyone else would have feared for his life. Regardless of King Richard's mandate, Virgil would pay for his insolence. Bram decided he would use his influence to unseat the impudent man upon his return to Angkor. A smile crept upon his lips, as darkness descended in the cabin. The sun had set, and the rush of air caused by Virgil's hasty departure had blown out the night lamp. Yet Bram stewed in his seat a moment longer, contemplating how to gain the upper hand.


	3. Chapter 1: Part II

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**Part II**

_Before Daybreak of Diapente, Twenty-Ninth Day of Harvestmoon_

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Rosalyn Reynolds heaved a sigh of disappointment as she absentmindedly stirred her cup of chamomile tea and honey. The mixture had long since blended, but the repetitive exercise served to placate her troubled mind.

She was the only child of Tom Reynolds, a substantially wealthy and influential banker, who raised her to be one of Angkor's most privileged. Her upbringing offered a wide open world, filled with wondrous places, famous people, and important events.

Many considered her quite beautiful, with long voluminous blond hair, light complexion, and a supple feminine figure with athletic build. Her deep brown eyes and long lashes attracted the attention of men all around her, many of whom had asked for her hand over the years. In spite of the attention of many qualified suitors, she had already given her heart to the brilliant war hero and Gnostic Knight, Bram Morrison.

Sadly, things had not worked out as she had planned. As she sat and stared into her teacup, she wondered if she had chosen the wrong path. Long ago, she had followed other dreams, but had long since cast them aside.

It all began when she was a child, inspired by the tales of the legendary Vinetan healer and wizard, Isabella Clairvaux. For hours, she would sit in her room and read of heroic deeds, such as the time Isabella brought a prince back from the dead. He had been eaten whole by the great leviathan of the sea, named _Bake-kujira_, but due to her intervention, they fell in love and lived happily together for the rest of their days.

The children's tales helped to foster an interest in the _white arts_, which Rosa pursued through dutiful studies. Wizards required years of academia to master their art, but Rosa's instructors claimed she had been born with unique potential. Given enough scholarly research, she could one day be among the most powerful wizards of her time.

Unfortunately, after her first few years of schooling, the government shut down her classroom and placed its students on the battlefield. It was during the War's later years, when Angkor was desperate for additional forces to gain ground against Koba and Kitezh. Bram was a soldier at the time, climbing the ranks of King Richard's army, and somehow chance had brought them together.

As they fought side by side, they built trust and shared in mutual hardships. Through struggle and conflict, a relationship blossomed. He seemed to be the prince for whom she had long searched—and thinking her tale now over—she withdrew from her studies to support him in battle.

Sadly, the partnership did not last. In the years of peace following Angkor's victory, Gnostics faded into obscurity while white wizards returned to academia—all except for Rosa, of course. She aimed for a quieter life, while Bram continued his work for the king. She knew he loved and trusted her with his soul, but could not deny his heart belonged to the knighthood. Slowly, boredom and complacency strained their bond.

During the previous night, he took off unexpectedly for another of his impromptu missions. As with other departures, he left her nothing but a short message from the chambermaid. She never even had the chance to say goodbye. Of course, given the opportunity she would have gleefully obstructed his flight. After all, the War was over and she wanted him to retire and help to raise a family.

For some reason, he always seemed against the idea, claiming he would do anything to avoid the pompousness of the Angkorian aristocracy. Instead, he wanted to defend and protect his kingdom—which was nonsense! Angkor no longer needed his protection. Meanwhile, she had a responsibility to uphold her family's name—something her father constantly reminded was her duty. If the man with whom she dared to share a household were not to stand by her side, it would bring shame and embarrassment to her entire family.

Why would he not make a few sacrifices for her, after all she had given up for him? Her studies, her dreams, her youth—was it all in vain? She shed a tear, wishing she could take things back to the way they used to be.

The foolish thoughts circled in her head like the chamomile leaves in her teacup. She had awoken before sunrise, a habit picked up during the War. She often drank a cup or two of tea to start her day, but recently she seemed to waste the morning hours feeling sorry for herself, rarely venturing forth from the sitting room of her manor house.

Meanwhile, the chambermaid sat across from her, in an apparent state of extreme boredom. She was a young little biddy with straight brown hair pulled tightly in a bun, and a crooked nose. Her eyebrows were raised in sympathy, but her true feelings were revealed by the way her eyes wandered around the room while she discreetly cleaned her teeth with her tongue. It was a rude and obnoxious habit, and Rosa wanted the inconsiderate girl out of her sight!

"There, there," the young girl consoled. If she was attempting to add words of comfort, it was not working. "Soldiers aren't bred to be considerate, you know."

"What would you know of it?" Rosa snapped back, annoyed at the complete and utter thoughtlessness. "You mustn't be more than what—thirteen?"

"Fourteen, milady," the maid responded as she picked up the teapot from the table. "Would you care for more?"

Rosa let the question steep. She needed some fresh air and an escape from her servant's pitying eyes. "I'm going to the market," she announced, frustrated.

"Milady, it's still far too early," the maid protested. "The shop keeps must still be in bed at this hour. Why not send one of your attendants—"

"Do not attempt to tell me when I can leave my own home," Rosa scolded. "The fact is, I need some fresh air. I'm trained in the _white arts_ and can take care of myself, you know."

"As you wish, milady," the young girl responded meekly. Smoothing her dress, she moved about the room in a caricature of acting busy. Rosa ignored the feeble attempt, and wondered how she ever let her father talk her into hiring such a useless girl. She supposed it was his prerogative, after all, since he did own the manor house. She and Bram merely lived there on behalf of his grace.

She took the stairs to her ornate foyer, where an assiduous butler drew an overcoat around her shoulders. After walking outside and closing the gate behind her, she noticed the ash-colored evergreen shrubs and miserable looking flower beds that served as landscaping around the front entrance. She shook her head in disapproval.

A month ago, the groundskeeper left to return to his family in Vineta, a country to the west. He was one of many who made an effort to reconnect with loved ones following the War's end. Bram had promised to find a replacement, but like so many of his responsibilities, he had neglected to follow through. To start over now would cost at least a hundred silver coins. Rosa wondered if the man had a care in the world outside of the knighthood.

Her downed spirits followed as she sauntered toward the district's central courtyard. She enjoyed the cool morning air as the sky turned orange above her. She was just starting to relax and forget her worries, when a middle-aged man with a brown mustache and dressed in a dark suit approached her.

"Who are you?" she asked, always on guard when it came to approaching strangers.

"You may call me Andrews, Madam," he responded politely.

Rosa recognized the man. "That's right, you work for my father, don't you?"

Andrews smiled and offered a slight tip of his head. "I was planning to seek you at the manor, but it seems you saved me a trip. Your father requests your presence."

Rosa's chest constricted, as she usually associated these discussions with bad experiences. "I'm busy," she lied.

"I'm certain you can make time for your errands later, Madam," he said, hinting that her father would find a way to meet with her, one way or another. Wanting to avoid the embarrassment of a second attempt, she decided to accept the invitation.

Straightening her posture and holding her head up high, she presented her response. "Very well, then. I know the way, myself—thank you very much." She was not about to let her father's servant escort her like a child.

Andrews tipped his head again and walked away. She did not suppose she could avoid the confrontation at this point, so she changed direction and headed towards her father's place of business, the Royal Bank of Angkor.


	4. Chapter 1: Part III

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**Part III**

_Morning of Diapente, Twenty-Ninth Day of Harvestmoon_

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Bram Morrison's airship was swift and sturdy, but flying across the Great Ocean held many dangers to the unseasoned soldier. Surviving the flight required an ever-vigilant eye and a ready sword, which was why he was quick to awaken and don his Gnostic armor within minutes of hearing the ship's battle horn.

"Captain, we've encountered _spawn_," his lieutenant explained the moment he emerged onto his ship's deck.

The term referred to a class of creature whose recent appearance meant a new threat to mankind. Unlike Gaia's native plant and animal species, these vermin only appeared in recent history. People first reported them feeding off the dead and mortally wounded in the aftermath of battles. They were dangerous, aggressive, and ferociously attacked anyone who approached them. And yet, their origin was a mystery, as if they spawned from the battlefields themselves—a tale that earned them their notorious name.

"What's the status, lieutenant?" asked Bram.

"We've run into a wave of chiroptera, sir—"

No sooner had the lieutenant spoke when a series of dark leathery shapes approached. They were airborne creatures that resembled bats, but their size was as large as a human torso. Their wings seemed almost too small to lift their bloated bodies, and their sharp teeth and one-eyed faces gave them a monstrous appearance. They lacked the grace and agility of other flying spawn, but they attacked in large numbers, making them just as dangerous.

Even so, they were no match for the skill of a Gnostic Knight. Bram's sword was in his hands in moments. It was an enchanted blade, imbued by black wizards with the most powerful curses and toxins known to man. Even a small nick against a person's flesh was lethal—and fortunately, it worked just as well on spawn.

He and his lieutenant ran to outflank the swarm from either side. With a series of rapid thrusts and slashes, Bram's sword tore through the creatures' leathery hides, hacking off pieces of them at a time. His own battle rage formed a synergy with the blade's magical aura, adding to its strength. Dismembered wings and snouts fell upon the ship's deck as he decimated their numbers.

His lieutenant had also done a fair job of downsizing the vermin, leaving Bram to take a breather while admiring the pile of carcasses before him. With the immediate danger out of the way, he looked down the length of his ship to see what else needed his attention. However, it seemed his men already had things under control.

"We've taken care of most of them," his lieutenant reported, "but I'm afraid the larger threat is from the spawn who fly out yonder."

Bram looked to where his subordinate pointed. In the distance, just at the edge of sight, flew a species of spawn known as corvusaurs. These soaring menaces had the face of a lizard and the body of a raven. Covered in ink black feathers, these monstrosities had oversized maws capable of swallowing a man whole.

"Finish off the chiroptera before worrying about those," Bram responded. "Also, make sure we have enough firebombs below deck in case others show up. As for the corvusaurs, I want you to load the cannons with lightning rounds. Now go!"

"Yes, sir!" The lieutenant saluted before leaving.

Bram had a proven technique for protecting his ship from spawn. The first of these involved a devious device known as a firebomb. Concocted by Angkor's black wizards, the munitions produced a furious blast of heat and flame. Since they damaged everything within a ten-span range, miniature catapults along the sides of the deck launched them far enough away to avoid damage to the ship. Several blasts were enough to cull most spawn colonies, except for the larger beasts.

That was where the lightning rounds came into play. Because corvusaurs were so massive and agile, the firebombs were insufficient. Other maneuvers such as cannons or longbows lacked the necessary strength or velocity. So instead, Bram invented an approach that defeated their aerial advantage.

Once again, he utilized Angkor's black wizards to store an electrical charge inside cannon munitions. Like discharging a massive capacitor, it released its energy in a powerful storm of sparks. Combined with the static accumulated on the tufts of a corvusaur's features, it resulted in a burst of electricity that traveled in between the beasts in bright white arcs. Most tended to be killed on impact, while the survivors usually fled. Bram intended to employ this technique, but so far the spawn flew at too great a distance.

His lieutenant returned from his tasks below deck. He saluted his superior. "Sir, I've completed your orders."

Bram nodded. "The corvusaurs have not taken an attack pattern. We may yet avoid a conflict."

The man agreed, but seemed to have more to say. Although Gnostics typically flaunted their threatening reputations, many held a more subdued relationship with their own crew. Some even went as far as to offer counsel during times of grief. Bram was such a knight.

"You may speak your mind, soldier."

The lieutenant stepped forward. "It's about the spawn, sir. How much longer must we fight these creatures? It seems like every week we gather cleansing parties from all our major cities, and send them out to the countryside to eradicate their nests. And yet, sightings have only managed to increase." He paused before adding, "I'm not the only one who feels this way—the others share my concern. Surely you must know how the king intends to address this curse."

Bram had pondered it himself. Early on, spawn avoided the cities and larger settlements, preying instead at the agrarian outskirts. Farmers would find half-eaten remains of livestock in their fields, and travelers would report seeing bodies of lone tradesman who errantly ventured into the backwoods unarmed. Over time, however, the spawn became increasingly aggressive. In an attempt to fight the invasion, cities would send out warriors capable of killing hundreds at a time. But in spite of their efforts, spawn sightings grew each month.

"It's true," he responded. "The menace is larger than ever before, but I'm certain the king's advisors are looking into it. My own opinion is that blood from the battlefields has drawn these creatures out from their underground lairs, but the infestation is only temporary. Once they've exhausted their food source, they'll return to—."

"Sir!" The interruption came from a soldier at Bram's rear, his navigations officer. He spun around quickly, causing the man to flinch. Such was commonplace in the presence of a Gnostic Knight. Part of it was due to their attire, which included a fearsome mask with skull and horns that was carefully designed to invoke fear and intimidation. Even a knight's own men—veterans and brothers of many battles—shrank before its terrifying aura. Bram waited for the officer to regain his composure.

"We'll soon reach our destination, sir, but we can't land with the corvusaurs in the distance. If they attack during our descent we'll be at a significant disadvantage."

The lieutenant took his cue and withdrew to make landing preparations. Bram addressed his navigations officer. "What do you recommend?"

"We should either draw them into battle, or find a way to outmaneuver them."

"We can't shake them," Bram responded. "The ship stinks of death, and corvusaurs have a keen sense of smell." He shook his head. "We'll have to do what we can to lure them within attack range. Where are the other men?"

"In the holds, sir, searching for munitions. There's not much left."

Bram sighed quietly. He did not want his subordinate to overhear and mistake it for doubt. In order to lead, he had to set an example to embolden his men. "Collect what you can and make sure the cannons are loaded."

"Yes, sir!" The officer saluted and went below deck.

Bram wished he still had Rosa on board. Her magic would have certainly come in useful. Her quarters were still below deck, untouched since she last fought at his side during the War. Even in the midst of conflict, he could hear her charming voice as he imagined feeling her soft, beautiful skin. During those cold nights on the battlefields, far from Angkor's safety, he would caress her lovingly. She would move in close enough for him to smell her peppermint-scented breath, as he ran his fingers through her long, golden curls.

Despite his love for her, the knighthood demanded he reserve all displays of affection to more private settings. Rosa seemed to understand little of his obligations, and since the onset of peace, became even more outspoken of her distaste of the Gnostic organization. He used to count on her to have his back, but now she insisted on living the life her father dictated. She even had the gall to tell him that she would no longer be the girl who so foolishly ran away from home to fight with her lover. Did she always consider their love so tawdry? Selfish woman!

Looking across the deck, he saw his men had started to clear the carcasses of chiroptera by throwing them off the side of the ship to the ocean below. The creatures carried an unmistakably rancid smell. He commanded them to stop. He had an idea.


	5. Chapter 1: Part IV

**.**

* * *

**Part IV**

_Morning of Diapente, Twenty-Ninth Day of Harvestmoon_

* * *

Angkor's capital was known to many as the fortress city. Located adjacent to the city of Niedam, it was designed from the onset for impregnability. It had two main districts, one inside the other. The first—called the Outer Sanctum—was a residential district that contained the sumptuously designed dwellings of the aristocracy. Meanwhile, the Inner Sanctum served as the city's civic framework, including the king's palace. For almost a century, it safeguarded the monarchial government in what many considered the most defensible structure on the planet.

In order to reach the Royal Bank of Angkor, Rosa had to cross into the Inner Sanctum, which involved passing through one of several security stations located around the district's perimeter. Just like any other visitor requesting access, she had to provide credentials in the form of a royal seal. It was nothing more than a small silver medallion stamped with a royal insignia. To prevent theft, the seals were unique to each individual, and magically imbued to tarnish if ever passed onto another person. They were also protected against forgery, since original seals would turn blue if placed near the indicator devices located at each checkpoint. She kept hers on hand at all times, which allowed her free access in between districts.

While King Richard tended to keep an ample security force around him at all times, the checkpoints served as an additional level that addressed crime within the Inner Sanctum. In particular, Angkor had grown powerful enough to attract assassins. They were often hired by those who served to profit from a change in the balance of power. The checkpoints restricted access to a known list of people, which not only protected the king, but also his court and any visiting dignitaries.

When Rosa approached the golden gates of the Royal Bank, she was ushered inside by one of the guards. They were already expecting her and—like it or not—they provided an escort to her father's office.

The armed guardsman led her to a wide open atrium on the building's top floor. The room had windows spaced along the entire perimeter, which let in plenty of light. Arched ceilings high above were adorned with beautiful trim made of carved ironwood. The floor was a series of marble tiles arranged in alternating patterns of white and blue. Her father sat behind a desk in the far corner of the room, counting a stack of gold coins.

Tom Reynolds had white hair and bushy eyebrows, even though he was still a middle-aged man. He wore a sapphire-blue coat with white hose, which curiously matched the room's interior. He held up an index finger to indicate that he acknowledged her presence, and that she should wait for him to finish before speaking.

After a minute of awkward silence, he greeted his daughter. "Hello, Rosa. Thank you for answering my summons."

"Hello, Father," she responded, feeling like the same youth who faced her father when she was fifteen years younger. She still had trouble meeting his gaze when he spoke to her.

"It's been a few months since last we spoke," he said, in an uncomfortably cheerful tone. "I'd hoped you would visit more often."

"I suppose I didn't want to disturb your coin counting," she returned in a flat voice.

Tom smiled. He stood up from his chair and slowly made his way to her side. She cringed as he took her hands in a loving gesture. Meanwhile, her eyes wandered to the armed escort who had never left her side. He stood at attention, as if he were a fixture in the room.

"What's wrong?" her father asked with a smirk. "Do you think I sit here all day long and count money?"

Rosa looked towards the floor, embarrassed. She had not meant to start the conversation with an insult. It just kind of slipped out.

"Let me explain something to you, since you ought to be old enough to understand," he said. "My job is to deal in capital. The Royal Bank funds the king's expenses, and the amount of money that flows through this establishment is proportional to the prosperity of the nation itself. Counting the money is a necessary part of the accounting, and I trust no one else with the responsibility. Besides—it's just a few hours each morning, and then I'm off to better things. You see? Perhaps I'm not the old stiff you take me for."

Rosa let out a giggle at her father's self-deprecation. He had that way about him. That's how it always started.

"There, that's better," he observed. "Now, how about you tell me what you're up to this early in the morning."

She tried to sound more cheerful. "I was just out for a stroll."

"I had a chat with Andrews a few moments ago. He said you had big plans this morning."

She remembered the lie she told her father's servant, about being too busy to see him. She knew he was testing her. "That's right," she said, "later on, of course."

"I see." Tom's blue eyes were like a hawk's. He had her in his sights. "So you have big plans later, but you went out for a stroll before the break of dawn?"

She scoffed. "I'm a big girl, Father. I can leave the manor any time I please."

"Of course you can," he said, innocently. "Hmm … I bet I know what has you so upset."

Rosa's mood darkened.

"Could it be that Mister Morrison left last night without telling you? Are you feeling—perhaps—spurned by this?"

Her eyes narrowed. How did he know—the maid?

"Don't be upset with me, my dear," he told her. "I have my sources, and I have every right to keep an eye on my daughter."

"No you don't," she shot back. "It's _my_ privacy."

"You're living in _my_ house," he told her.

"I'm twenty-five years old. I don't need your servants to escort me here every time you think I need to be coddled!"

"Calm down, that's not why I summoned you," he explained. She scowled and glared at him. "I want nothing more than to offer a suggestion."

A strange tingling crept up her spine. "What is it?"

"It's about Mister Morrison—"

Rosa sighed. "I know you don't like him—"

"That's right," he cut her off. "I don't like the way he treats you, and I think you deserve better."

"We're working things out—"

"That's not good enough."

"What do you want me to do? Kick him out?"

Now it was Tom's turn to sigh. "Rosa, honey, I want you to stop being petulant and listen to me for a moment. All I want is for you to have a future, and I don't believe Mister Morrison can provide one for you. So I have someone else in mind."

Rosa was aghast, and her eyes went wide. "Another man?"

"Yes," Tom said forcefully. "He's handsome and mature, strong and confident, and in good favor with the king. In fact, he's not all that different from Mister Morrison—except for the dispassionate attitude and cold demeanor, of course."

"This is _sick_!" she yelled back at him, only to once again be reminded of the presence of the armed guard standing next to her. She recoiled after noticing him.

"I'll tell you what's sick," Tom said. "Bedding with a man out of wedlock who has no desire to raise a child. You'll listen to me this time, Rosa, because you know I'm right about that."

She frowned, but could not deny it. "Bram's a national hero. He's risked his life for us to attain peace." He was also the fairytale prince whom she had fallen in love—but it was not the time for naïve fantasies, so she pushed the thought aside.

"I have deep respect for our veterans," Tom professed, "but I want you to consider that Bram is a soldier, and that he has no room for you in his life. Whatever you choose to sacrifice for him, you should expect to get nothing in return."

The truth hit home, and it brought a tear to her eye. She tried to wipe it away before he saw it—but it was too late.

"Come now," he said, "I'm not here to punish you for falling in love with the wrong man. I just want what's best for you—which is why I want you to consider the man I have in mind."

She continued to wipe the wetness from the creases around her eyes. "Who is he, then?"

"I believe you've already met," Tom explained. "He's Angkor's Grand Craftsman."

"You mean Cedric Curtis?"

"That's right. In fact, he'll be expecting you later this morning."

Rosa hated that her father had set up a date without her consent, but in light of everything, perhaps it was not such a bad idea. She had known Cedric for a couple of years now, and he was as good a suitor as any man. If nothing else, perhaps it would get her father to leave her alone.

Tom seemed to sense a change of heart, and he smiled. "See … I only want what's best for you. Now, come here and give me a hug."

Rosa put her arms around his shoulders hesitantly. It still did not feel right, but she was nevertheless committed. Her father had that way with her. "Thank you, Father," she said to be conciliatory.

"Of course," he said, giving her a pat on a back. "Of course …."


	6. Chapter 1: Part V

**.**

* * *

**Part V**

_Morning of Diapente, Twenty-Ninth Day of Harvestmoon_

* * *

Bram grew anxious as his ship approached its destination. The corvusaurs still followed his flight path, hovering like phantoms in the distance. Very shortly he would need to descend, but first he had to eliminate the threat of attack. He planned to use a series of maneuvers that would lure the corvusaurs closer, so that his men could destroy them with lightning rounds. He would use the foul-smelling corpses of chiroptera as bait, which still lay in piles across the ship. If he could get in close enough, he hoped the corvusaurs would catch a whiff and move in for their meal.

The entire procedure would have been easier, if only he had brought black wizards on board. His men were all warriors. None of them had the skills or training required to cast magic. While some airships mandated the presence of wizards, the Heron had been refitted with newer technology, which no longer required magic to maintain operation. If Bram had been given more notice and time to prepare, he would have assembled a more diverse crew—but it seemed the damned bureaucrats in the capital had thrown the mission together at the last moment. They probably attained the king's seal without even a single review from the military strategists! He cursed under his breath.

"I believe I can be of assistance," came a voice from behind.

He turned to meet the steadfast gaze of Virgil Garvey, whom he had not seen since their bitter encounter the previous night. Having no time for games of seniority, Bram said something he hoped would get the chancellor out of his sight.

"It'd be best if you returned to your cabin, Mister Garvey. We may be forced to perform some maneuvers to deal with the threat of spawn in the distance. You won't want to be on deck if we need to engage in an assault."

The chancellor waved his hand dismissively. "I'm aware of the problem, and I'll have you know that I already have a viable solution. You see, I'm trained in the _black arts_."

From inside his robes he produced a case bound by a delicate chain-linked cord. Bram could tell from the 'wind' rune emblazoned on the front that it contained a scroll capable of casting a magical spell.

Much to Bram's chagrin, the chancellor could not help but utter another insult to get his point across. "We'll have a better chance by making use of my skills than for you to resort to foolhardy _maneuvering_."

Bram's eyes narrowed. The last thing he needed was to be goaded in front of his men by one of King Richard's most arrogant cronies. Even so, he maintained his composure. "Very well, Mister Garvey, but I expect you to follow my orders." He waited for Virgil to nod, but only received an impatient glare.

Unabated, Bram continued. "We'll use your wind magic to blow the scent of the chiroptera carcasses in the direction of the corvusaurs. My crew will await below deck, while you go starboard and cast the scroll in the spawn's direction. When they take the bait, you'll end the spell and my men will fire lightning rounds from the cannons. Hopefully, if we destroy enough of them, the rest will flee. Are you fit for the task?"

"It's simple enough," Virgil responded. "Let's get on with it—shall we?"

Bram did not intend to yield to the chancellor's disrespectful retorts. He ordered his men below deck, but he remained in order to be the first to react to the skirmish. He secured himself with rope to the ship's mast, since he expected any loose material to be blown overboard.

After double-checking his harness, he glanced over to Virgil, who was already preparing his incantation. It surprised him to learn that a mere chancellor had training in magic. Not many bureaucrats bothered to learn these skills, and none that he knew had put forth the effort to master anything of value. He was therefore skeptical whether Virgil was as proficient as he boasted.

Although Bram had never had time to train in magic, he learned plenty of its inner workings from Rosa. Scrolls in particular were nothing more than instructions for a spell on paper. They could be committed to memory by learning the inflection and pronunciation of the runes, but the paper would disintegrate in the reader's hands as soon as the spell was cast. Wizards employed this precaution to prevent their wares from being used too freely.

Rosa taught him many things, and her peers held her skills in high regards. Some even claimed that she would be among the greatest white wizards in her time. Of course, once she and Bram joined during the War, she put her training aside. Fortunately, her skills had saved him from many near-fatal blows. They fought as a team, and their love grew stronger as a result. It was why their relationship endured, even in spite of changes brought on by peace.

Bram cleared his mind as Virgil began the incantation. The runes on the scroll glowed brightly, and the paper turned to ash in his hands. Suddenly, Bram felt a breeze, which brought a momentary relief from the stench. It did not take long for the chiroptera carcasses to slide across the deck, pushed by the wind's growing force. Dust and dried blood mixed with the remains, forming into a raging funnel cloud. The tempest pulled at Bram as well, and had it not been for the restraints, he would have been dragged along with it. Virgil's command of the spell was masterful. He directed the maelstrom of dust, dirt, and gore outward toward the corvusaurs.

As Bram hoped, the spawn broke from their formation to feed. As soon as they were in range, the chancellor ended the spell. Bram quickly removed his harness, and saw that his men were already in full sprint toward the cannons. Sharp shards of lightning cascaded toward the swarm. A fury of sparks and thunder ignited a few of the birds in flame, leaving masses of charred feathers gliding in midair, and smoldering bodies crashing to the sea. Many of the others retreated, but a few evaded the magical storm and lunged toward the ship.

Bram unsheathed his enchanted sword and took a defensive position. One of the giant creatures flew directly overhead, its sights set on him. He carefully watched its wing tips, knowing they were capable of ejecting poisonous darts filled with paralyzing toxins. If any managed to strike him or his crew, it would be certain death. Without white wizards on board, he could not afford to have anyone hit.

Bram observed the beast trying to land on the deck. Before it touched down, he dashed quickly underneath it, using his armor's enchantments to grant him additional speed. The creature's size limited its maneuverability, and landing was a fatal mistake. Bram drove his poisonous blade into its backside. The weapon's dark magic pierced the thick hide, delivering concentrated venom into the creature's bloodstream. Thrashing in pain, the corvusaur thrust itself back into clear air, breaking one of the ship's masts in the process.

Bram did not have time to mourn the damages. He recovered, only to find the beast once more above him. Though it was in its death throes, it readied its poisonous darts, determined to take out its target. Bram was already at the aft of the ship, with nowhere to run. He braced himself—hoping his armor was strong enough to withstand the attack—when he heard a thunderous roar. An explosion erupted overhead, and the bird was engulfed in flames.

He sprinted to the bridge. Like seafaring vessels, the Heron had a wheel installed for manual steering. He gave it a strong turn, and the Heron veered away from the corvusaur's burning path of destruction. The smoldering body slowly lost altitude, shrieking as it fell.

He searched for the person who launched what he assumed to be a firebomb. Such an irresponsible act put the entire crew's lives at risk, and he intended to discipline the man severely. Rather than finding one of his own soldiers, however, he met the contemptuous gaze of his bureaucratic passenger.

"Virgil, you fool! Do you have any idea how careless it was to cast magic directly above an airborne vessel? Had you misfired, or caused the spawn to hit the ship, it would have sent us all crashing to the ocean!"

"You dare judge my sensibilities, Captain?" he returned, his eyebrows crossed. "I did nothing that would have jeopardized this ship, and might have even saved your life. That corvusaur would not have hesitated to skewer your flesh with darts, and proceed to rip the limbs off your paralyzed body!"

"Best not to judge me, either, Mister Garvey. My enchanted armor is not easy to pierce, and I'd have gladly taken the risk to maintain our safety!"

Virgil's eyes flared. "It was my call—not yours. This mission is too important to carry on debates over bruised egos. I suggest you prepare to land, so we can procure our assignment."

Bram's patience with the chancellor had finally reached its limit. "I haven't forgotten: the sunstone that must be obtained at 'any cost'." He approached the chancellor's face. "Apparently, that includes the lives of my crew!"

Virgil's voice dropped to a hiss. "What kind of a Gnostic are you, valuing these _grunts_ over your mission? They're expendable, Mister Morrison," he bared his teeth, "a_s are_ _you_!"

It took great restraint, but Bram repressed his anger. Even so, he shook visibly. "My men and this ship are among King Richard's greatest assets, and it's my duty to protect them. Your mandate may come directly from His Majesty, but that does _not_ give you permission to be reckless. From now on, you _will_ recognize my rank and follow _my_ command!"

Bram had not noticed, but his fist was clenched tightly around Virgil's arm. He realized it suddenly, and so did the chancellor.

"So be it," Virgil replied, tersely. Wrenching his arm free, he returned below deck.

After the explosion, the remaining corvusaurs had dispersed, leaving the crew to return to clearing the deck of blood and carcasses. Eventually, the ship reached Minoa and began its descent. Bram returned to his cabin to clean up and prepare for the mission. But his mood was dark and clouded.


	7. Chapter 1: Part VI

**.**

* * *

**Part VI**

_Morning of Diapente, Twenty-Ninth Day of Harvestmoon_

* * *

Rosa sat opposite from Cedric Curtis in a lovely looking chamber known as the Garnet Room, named for its lavish color scheme. Years ago, he hired the kingdom's most prestigious decorators to furnish his manor. They started by placing elaborate brass lighting fixtures in strategic locations to cast the perfect hue of warmth upon the carmine décor. Kitezhian rugs covered dark mahogany floors, and Vinetan oil paintings of beautiful landscapes hung atop hand-stenciled wallpaper.

They sat at a cherry tea table in ornate chairs with plush cushions and armrests carved in the shapes of autumn leaves. He smoked an ironwood pipe, saying nothing. His face looked calm and relaxed. For several minutes, no one spoke, and Rosa hoped her host would not consider it impolite.

"Your home is … lovely," she offered to quash the silence.

"Thank you, my dear," he responded before returning to his pipe-smoking equanimity.

She found herself staring, amazed that he could sit so calmly, while deep inside she felt so anxious. The awkward setup was beyond convention, and she still fumed over her father's meddling.

Even so, she had to admit that Cedric was a handsome man. He had a rugged frame, though not as broad chested as Bram. A dark, close-cropped beard covered most of the lines of maturity around his face. He was twelve years her elder, which put him close to his middle years—but Rosa found that attractive. Of course, his most striking feature was his bright hazel eyes, which carried an air of dignity and intelligence.

Unlike others in his trade, he was well groomed and sophisticated. He was Angkor's Grand Craftsman, a title that granted him great wealth. He had no need to frequent the machine shops—where soot, steam, and grease would quickly dishevel a person. His place was in the office, crunching numbers and designing schematics.

Of course, his life had not always been so easy. Long ago, he grew up as the son of a deep-sea fishing captain. His father had never been a wealthy man, but he nurtured his son's skills at tinkering, and helped him to excel in the fields of ship maintenance and repair. Many shipwrights sought his skills, and he became well known for solving tough problems.

His opportunity came when a high-ranking official took note of his handiwork and offered him a position on a top-secret project. The proposal aimed to combine the power of magic with ordinary nautical mechanics to create ships capable of air flight. In the very early stages, the contraptions proved dangerous and unreliable. In order to save the failing project, the military sought the expertise of Angkor's top artisans. Cedric spent countless hours and sleepless nights devising solutions. At last, he struck innovation, and his invention changed air flight forever.

Soon after it proved viable, King Richard appointed him to a newly created office at the top of his administration—and Cedric's design spread throughout the world. Schools taught his principles, and others improved upon his initial framework. He deserved the recognition, but always remained modest. Not only had his efforts made him famous, but his humility had also gained him the respect of his peers.

Following his newly acquired wealth and prestige, he set his goals toward marriage. Many women vied for his affection, but none managed to steer him from his work. After years of partial romances and curt infatuations, he ended his exploits. Instead, he chose to live alone, as mysterious as he was wealthy.

Things remained that way until the eve of the Unification Day centennial, an event that commemorated the union of Angkor's progenitors, Angaea and Sakor. On the one hundredth anniversary, King Richard announced a great celebration filled with fireworks, magic, and dancing. Everyone looked forward to it, especially Rosa. Bram had promised to make it a special evening, and she hoped it would add new excitement to their relationship.

Unfortunately, a few days before the event, he left the country for his first mission since the War's end. It was a crushing disappointment. She understood the nature of his work and knew the country's security depended on his success, but she could not let go of his promise to her. She put weeks of effort into planning her attire, and even ordered a coach to pick them up, but Bram disappeared without even a forewarning. It felt like a betrayal.

She had half a mind to stay at home, but forced herself to go at the last moment. She offered pleasantries to those around her to save face, but feelings of loneliness and shame soon brought tears to her eyes. She ducked into a lonely corner to pull herself together, when a man approached. He must have followed her after taking note of a woman in distress.

She recognized him as Angkor's Grand Craftsman, but never expected to be comforted by his kind words and sensitivities. As she stared into his compassionate eyes, she felt a welcome reprieve from her grief. They became good friends—and remained that way until recently, when her father thought to intervene by offering Cedric as a potential suitor.

Bringing herself back to the present, she realized she had not spoken for quite some time. She did not yet want to expose her feelings, but she yearned to break the awkward silence. "It's nice to have the chance to see you again, Mister Curtis …."

She stopped in mid-breath, feeling stupid for referring to him in such a formal way. Some date it was turning out to be. Despite the awkwardness, he merely sat back and patiently waited for her to continue.

She swallowed. "Your home is quite beautiful. This is my first time seeing it from the inside." It was also the second time she mentioned his home. Again she paused—holding her breath—trying to push away the feelings that made her so flustered. "So … what would you like to talk about?"

She cringed at her fumbling request. It was all she thought to say at a moment's notice, but it was not supposed to sound so awful!

Even so, he seemed to understand, and did not judge her. She felt transparent in front of his experienced eyes, wondering what he must be thinking. She thought about explaining herself further, but his next action halted her words. He emptied the contents of his pipe in a small glass tray and stood up. She watched as he walked over to her chair and offered his hand.

"I'd like to show you something," he said. "Would you care to follow me?"

Relieved at the break in the monotony, she reached forward to accept his offer. She let out a pent up breath, hoping she was not blushing.

He led her through a long hallway, following pools of light that poured from ornate brass chandeliers. At the end was a room filled with long tables set in the shape of a rectangle. He had decorated each of them with scaled-down replicas of mountains, rivers, and rock formations. As Rosa approached, she noticed hundreds of miniature soldiers, all set in a rendition that she recognized as Dobb's Plain, the battle that ended the War.

"It's incredible," she breathed, unable to find the right words to describe his marvelous attention to detail.

Cedric stepped closer and put his arm around her shoulders. Then, he pointed to a section of the model. "That's the outcropping where General Friedreich Rommel of Kitezh fell to the Angkorian defense. Some might argue that Rommel's fall signaled the end of the War." He pointed to another small section to the right. "This field is where the Kenju masters of Koba met their match against the Angkorian Templars—and here's where the Templar Grandmaster lost his life."

Rosa followed where he pointed and listened intently. She loved history, especially events in which she had a personal involvement. She fought along with Bram in the final battle, but seeing the entire field at once from high above blessed her with a whole new perspective.

"Would you care for anything to drink? Some tea, perhaps?" he offered.

"No, thank you, I just want to admire things here for a little while longer."

"Do you expect Bram to return later today?"

The question took her by surprise. For all she knew, his mission would end quickly, and he would return home at any moment and expect to find her. Of course, that sounded preposterous. Every other time, he remained absent for days. He never told her where he went, or what he did. With no war to fight, she wondered what a knight would even do these days.

"You know," Cedric mused as he walked back to the model and picked up a figurine dressed in white, "they say that white wizards played a very important role in the War. Not just because of their healing and protective powers, but also because of the bonds they made with other soldiers. They say that when a white wizard casts a spell out of love, the magic has a greater effect. When this is done enough times, a bond forms between the wizard and her ward. They begin to sense one another, even when they're apart."

"I'm not sure there's much study to support that theory," Rosa returned absently, though the inkling of a long forgotten memory began forming in her head.

"Is that true?" he asked, placing the white robed figurine back on the table. "Does Bram feel that way about you? I wonder …."

She looked to where he had placed the figurine. It was her, she realized. Cedric had modeled both her and Bram in the battle, and she remembered it clearly—the pain she felt when the Kitezhian bowman shot an arrow through his side, the blood that spilled from his Gnostic armor—it felt as if the wound came from her own heart.

She remembered running to him and catching him in her arms as she cast the defensive spell to stop the other arrows. She had drawn from the power of her own soul to stop the bleeding. The arrow had pierced his lung, and his breath came in short rasps. He coughed, and blood spilled from his lips. A glassy veneer coat covered his eyes as death passed over him. She summoned her strength, her courage, and her determination. She spoke the words of magic, and they flowed from her lips as blood flowed from his.

The last thing she remembered was the joy and relief as color returned to his face—and at that moment a sudden wave of guilt washed over her. She remembered why she had come, and how her father had talked her into something she would have never done on her own. She opened her mouth to say something, but only tears came out. She had no idea what to say, except for a few words. "I … I'm sorry Cedric, but I have to go!"

She felt shame and embarrassment, but when she looked into his eyes, all she saw was kindness.

"It's all right," he replied with a warm smile. "You belong to him."

He understood—thank the Goddess, he understood! He took her gently in his arms and hugged her. She hugged him back. Her father no longer had a hold over her. "I do," she said, and ran out of the room.


	8. Chapter 1: Part VII

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* * *

**Part VII**

_Afternoon of Diapente, Twenty-Ninth Day of Harvestmoon_

* * *

Bram Morrison entered the village of Minoa accompanied by his men and the king's chancellor. Each donned his fullest regalia, their bright steel gleaming under a repressive sun. It was in sharp contrast to the filthy rags adorning the inhabitants, who watched them pass with hardened eyes. Off to the side, an old woman stared at Bram with blank white orbs, which seemed to be a pair of glass prosthetics. An ominous feeling overcame him, and he found himself turning his head to avoid her gaze.

He was angered by his lack of self-control. A Gnostic would never recoil from a common old hag. These villagers meant nothing to him, nor should he feel guilt or displeasure in their misfortunes. He followed King Richard's command, and King Richard's command was absolute!

Repeating this creed often allayed wandering doubts, but this time it felt odd and unsettling just to think of it. The Minoan people were not his enemy, but rather a sordid assortment of impoverished villagers. They were pitiful to look at, and bereft of everything except their sacred sunstone—the artifact he was ordered to obtain at _any cost_.

"Keep your eyes straight," Virgil hissed at his side.

So, the chancellor had noticed, too. Bram felt humiliated at being reprimanded, but his discomfort mostly came from the mission itself. The assignment was unlike any other. At least when the nations of Koba and Kitezh threatened his homeland, Bram had every reason to hate them for it. They were responsible for the deaths of his family, who burned in the flames of an enemy assault. His village had been torched during the War, and his desire for vengeance made it easier to do the same to others. His wrath was justice for the ones he had loved and lost.

Conversely, the pitiable village of Minoa contained no more than the washed-up survivors from burgs and settlements that he himself had raided. They were veterans of the wrong side of history, who left behind the ashes of their homes with nowhere else to turn, and no other country to call their own.

The final battle of Dobb's Plain had been especially brutal, resulting in the deaths of thousands of Kitezhian soldiers and Koban warriors who lost their lives to Angkorian steel. They left behind widows and orphans, who boarded ships bound for the Southern Continent in the hope of finding solace. Minoa welcomed these immigrants, offering food and temporary lodgings.

Bram happened to have played a part in the final battle, though he nearly lost his life defending an Angkorian general who was ambushed due to faulty intelligence. He led the reinforcements, but was cornered when the enemy surprised him with a new wave of archers. Their arrows, guided by black magic, pierced the joints in between his plates of armor. If Rosa had not been there to heal his wounds, he would have surely perished.

In his mind's eye, his love appeared by his side, dressed in the white wizard's attire that she had worn during the War. Her white vest, leggings, and hard leather moccasins were well-suited for traversing hard terrain. However, the vision quickly faded as he thought about how he left her a thousand leagues away, without as much as a goodbye. His life as a Gnostic must have been hard on her, but she rarely complained. If only he could think of a way to make it up to her.

His fond memories dissolved as his objective grew closer. The Great Temple of Minoa appeared in the distance, incongruent with the rest of the surroundings. Unlike the other poorly constructed makeshift shacks, it stood as the one monument in the village that emanated grace and dignity.

It had in fact been built hundreds of years earlier by the Ancient Minoans—perhaps the oldest civilization in recorded history. The ramshackle village had merely been built around it. The Gaian Priesthood had once blanketed the globe, but over time their numbers dwindled as people abandoned the faith. The modern day village was now the only remaining mecca for the priesthood to practice their religion.

When the group finally arrived at the temple gates, a male in black wizard's robes and a female in white greeted them at the door.

"Greetings, gentle Minoans," Bram began, projecting his voice in an official proclamation, as he had practiced. "We are representatives from Angkor, where His Royal Majesty, the gracious King Richard Cromwell, formally requests an audience between Chancellor Virgil Garvey and his Excellency, the Elder of Minoa."

The female wizard gave them an apologetic look. "It's a pity you've travelled so far, great warriors," she chimed, "but the Elder has recently started the Por Qhai, our annual tradition requiring a moon cycle of fasting and meditation."

The male wizard continued in a somewhat musical voice. "We sadly inform you that it's impossible to interrupt the event once it has begun. We hope that you honor our traditions and come back at a time when our doors are open again to the public."

This was hardly sad news for Bram, who had anticipated the Por Qhai, and planned to use it as part of his ruse. Since most of the temple guards would be participating in the rituals, the invasion would be met with less resistance. Having confirmed the holiday, he nodded to his men. A few of them stepped forward with strong black cords, which they used to bind the wizards' hands, mouths, and feet.

"Do not resist," Virgil commanded. "I've cast an anti-magic field, which will prevent you from casting spells. Cooperate, and I'll not be forced to harm you." The chancellor's magic stripped the wizards of their only defense, rendering them helpless against Bram's soldiers.

Virgil whispered more words of magic, while waving his hand in a small arc. The temple's gate swung inward. His speed at spell casting was impressive. Few wizards had enough experience to be so parsimonious in their gestures. Novice users often struggled with the complex words and gestures—sometimes choosing to cast their spells slowly for correctness, rather than be forced to start over. Nevertheless, Virgil uttered the words quietly under his breath, as effortlessly as whistling a tune.

Bram allowed the chancellor to enter first. Once again, an inaudible whisper and casual wave was enough for Virgil to put the priests inside into a stupor. As Bram entered, he saw half a dozen men and women sink slowly to the ground. Their eyes remained open, but the spell put their minds into a deep trance.

Perhaps King Richard had been wise to send Virgil on the mission. Without him, Bram's men would have been ill-equipped to handle so many wizards at once. With the path clear, they led the first two priests inside, where they joined their brethren in enchanted sleep.

When his eyes adjusted, Bram found the interior to be more magnificent than he could have imagined. Drawing his blade, he walked along a marble floor past a series of immensely tall stone columns. Sunlight shined through stained glass windows high above, casting a multicolored pattern upon a clean white carpet that ran the length from the entrance all the way to the back of the temple. The exquisitely architected ceiling reminded him of the cathedral in Angkor, but even more ornate—making him feel as though he should kneel in reverence. His soldiers marched by his side, ready to follow him into battle, but Virgil led the way, seemingly unimpressed by the majestic edifice.

At the back of the temple, they found a thick iron door with carvings that Bram recognized as Ancient Minoan script. The door would lead into the main meditation chamber where the Gaian Priests—as well as the sunstone—would be waiting.

Any historian would have leapt at the opportunity to stand in Bram's place and catalogue the temple's contents, but for centuries, the priests restricted access to all except their own order. It was believed that untold wisdom from the Ancient Minoan culture existed within. It was in temples such as these that the priests worshipped the deified spirit of the planet, also known as Gaia. But now, this temple was all that remained.

Edging toward the doorway, Bram looked curiously at the ancient symbols, wondering what they meant.

"Stand back!" Virgil snapped. "This door may very well be defended by invisible magic. These people do not like being disturbed. I have what I need to dispel the wards, but it'll take some time to prepare."

Bram nodded curtly and watched as the chancellor drew a circle of magic on the floor. Such tools were only necessary for spells of considerable power. He and his soldiers took a few steps back, wary of standing too close. The chancellor removed several components from his coat pockets. These included powders and dried herbs, a gemstone, and some unidentifiable objects—perhaps talismans carved from dark wood or stone. He placed them in specific segments of the circle before entering it himself and sitting in its center.

The words were spoken softly with long chains of syllables that sounded like serpentine poetry. He took a handful of a powdery substance and let it slide through his open fingers along the path of the circle. The dusty material hit the floor and emitted an incandescent glow that encased the chancellor in a cylinder of purple light. The words of magic echoed in Bram's ear, reflecting endlessly off the walls of the temple's enormous nave, as if refusing to be absorbed. He hoped no one would hear—or worse, that it would alert anyone inside to their presence. The light around Virgil vanished as soon as his incantation stopped. The door, however, remained closed.

"We may now take the worshippers by surprise," he explained to Bram, as if reading his thoughts. "I've placed an enchantment on the room that prevents anyone inside from casting magic. I expect your soldiers to follow my lead, and overpower the priests if they resist in any way."

"My men can handle it," Bram promised. He gestured for the soldiers to form at his flank. Virgil then used his powers to open the iron door. The men waited, weapons in position. As the door opened, shocked outcries emerged.

"What's the meaning of this?" a woman shouted.

"Who dares to disturb the Por Qhai?" a man yelled.

Bram and his men rushed inside. To his amazement, no one resisted. Right away, the priests seemed to realize that their powers had been subdued, making it easy for the soldiers to corral them into the room's corner.

The meditation chamber had a curious design. Every surface—from the walls and pillars to the ceiling and floor—was made from mirrored glass. Without concentrating, it became difficult tell a person from their reflection. Letting the eyes wander resulted in a dizzying effect.

"What do you want?" an older man pleaded.

"Silence!" Virgil roared, shoving his way past. "We're here for the sunstone. Hand it over, or blood shall be spilt!"

Bram raised a gauntleted hand to halt the chancellor's advance. "My men are in control here. Allow us to obtain the artifact."

"The sunstone is not within these chambers," a tall man from among the hostages claimed.

"Where is it?" Bram demanded.

"We keep it in a protective alcove elsewhere in the temple. I'll take you to it."

"He lies," Virgil warned. "He knows he's powerless to stand against us, so he wishes to lure you outside. If you kill him, it will serve as an example to the others, and they'll be more forthcoming."

The hostages shrank back from Virgil's threat, but the tall man stood his ground.

"I'm losing patience. Bram, order your men to kill this man!"

Every one of the chancellor's audacious orders raised Bram's blood pressure, until he could take no more of it. "I'm in charge here, and the situation doesn't call for—"

"Follow my orders," Virgil interrupted, "and we'll have the sunstone in short order."

Bram's hands clenched as his eyes scanned the men and women who were filled with fear. The chancellor seemed to think that death was the answer to everything! He looked at Virgil with contempt, though his Gnostic Helm hid his expression.

"What are you waiting for?" the callous man demanded.

"Have you not thought to search them for it?" Bram suggested. "There's no honor in striking down helpless worshipers. Give my men a chance to search them for the sunstone!"

Virgil groaned. "We have no time for that." He took a breath in a manner that seemed like controlled anger, his voice cold and scathing. "Are you prepared to do what is required, or are you _too weak_?"

Bram scowled. "You'll regret those words—"

"No!" Virgil hissed. "It's time I took things into my _own_ hands!"

He reached into his coat pocket. Bram's hand went reactively to his scabbard, but before his fingers closed on his sword, they froze in place. He could not move them, no matter how hard he tried.

A shiver ran up his spine. "What manner of sorcery have you cast on me?"

The chancellor did not respond. Instead, he kept one hand inside his coat pocket and used his other to point to one of Bram's men. "You there—strike down this Minoan."

The soldier obeyed Virgil's command, and slashed his sword across the man's neck and chest. Blood spurted from an open artery as the priest fell to the mirrored glass floor, a pool of dark red slowly forming around the wound.

Bram watched in horror, and his heart beat fast amid screams of terror and panic. Even so, his full attention was on the man who had usurped his command. Virgil's dark magic had forced his own subordinate to commit an act of cold-blooded murder. Bram felt anger boil inside of him.

The priests might have been steadfast before, but now he saw their fear. They uttered murmurs of "dark sorcery" and "forbidden magic", and Bram realized these phrases were not meant to describe the audacity of Virgil's actions, but rather the fact that he had exerted the power of magic at all. After all, the room had been rigged to prevent it.

Virgil eyed the worshipers with an eerie calm. "Give me the sunstone."

They did not comply. Instead, they huddled together, each wearing the serene expression of one who has accepted death.

Virgil pointed to another of Bram's soldiers, and then gestured toward a young woman. "You—kill her."

The soldier complied by dragging the woman by her hand. Kicking and screaming, she fought to free herself until the soldier ran his sword through her breast. The entire room seemed to hold a collective breath, creating a silence that was crisp enough for Bram to hear the blade sliding in between flesh and bone. It sounded like the carving of a pumpkin during the Great Harvest. He was sickened, and for a moment time stood still. The hostages stared in disbelief as their sister priestess fell to the floor, a look of shock and pity on her petrified face. Bram had no tolerance for the wanton cruelty, but he was spellbound and forced to watch. He wanted to scream with rage.

Virgil again pointed to the soldier with the bloody sword, and directed him to kill another man from the crowd.

"Stop!"

Virgil turned to face a small bald-headed man who stood up from the hostages. He was perhaps the least conspicuous of them, with a salt and pepper beard and the complexion of a young man. Yet the creases around his eyes suggested decades of struggle and hardship.

"Please stop, I beg of you!" he pleaded. "I am the Elder. The people you slay have done nothing against you. I will hand over the Pisces Stone, even though I fear the harm it can bring to this world in the wrong hands. I just can't bear to see another of my children killed while I do nothing. So take it … and be gone from here!"

In the Elder's outstretched hands sat what appeared to be an oval, quartz-like gemstone. Virgil wet his lips in anticipation. He walked over and looked at it lovingly, as a parent would to a favorite child. "Bram, pick up the sunstone."

Bram felt himself obey. As his fingers touched the surface, it emitted a faint, bluish glow—but only for a moment. He thought he saw a reflection inside that was not his own, but that disappeared as well. It was once again clear and quartz-like.

He took hold of it, and the Elder shrank back into the crowd. Almost at once, he felt control return to his body. Looking around, his heart sank at seeing the enfeebled worshippers, many of whom looked disappointed that their Elder had capitulated. They were ready to die to save their artifact, even as their friends and colleagues lay lifeless on the floor. These innocent men and women were murdered, for no other reason but for Angkor's king to have his prize. Bram uttered a single command to his men, which came through clenched teeth.

"Move out."

He was eager to leave the temple and rid himself of its cursed feel. The guilt washed over him like a flood. His men followed his lead, but seemed disoriented, as if waking from a dream. They also looked regretful, especially those who were forced to do the killing.

As he passed by Virgil, he whispered a threat. "You'll pay for this."

"We'll see," the chancellor responded levelly.

Bram and his men left the meditation chamber and exited the temple in the same way they had come. No one stood against them, even as they walked brazenly through the streets for all to see. The villagers stared him down, as if they were aware of the crime he had committed. Even so, they were powerless to stop him.

He cursed himself for allowing Virgil to usurp his command. He might have been following orders, but he had never intended for bloodshed against a people who never raised a hand in their defense. He swore that he would tell King Richard everything. He brought his hand to his belt pouch where he had placed the sunstone. It had better be worth the price that was paid to retrieve it. He and his men returned to the Heron, and prepared for their journey home.


	9. Chapter 1: Part VIII

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* * *

**Part VIII**

_Evening of Diapente, Twenty-Ninth Day of Harvestmoon_

* * *

The Heron's return trip was a somber experience for Bram and his men. Most of them returned to their cabins, angry and conflicted from the day's events, but one man still had unfinished business. Virgil Garvey entered his personal cabin and closed the door behind him. Speaking words of magic, he secured the bolt and protected the room against eavesdropping.

The status of the mission was mixed. Although he had obtained the Minoan sunstone, he felt uneasy over his numerous confrontations with the Gnostic Knight. It was not his idea to involve Bram at all, but his master had insisted. He spent months researching the knight's past, from his deeds during the War, to his adverse relationship with his mistress. The profile suggested a cold and emotionless soldier—willing to kill for his loyalties—but when it came down to it, he balked at performing the simplest of tasks. Virgil did not look forward to convincing his master that Bram would become an obstacle, rather than an ally.

Taking a deep breath, he sat on a stool next to a small oak table in the room's corner. He reached inside his coat pocket to retrieve the small stone he kept hidden there. It was similar to the sunstone, but dark in color, and shaped like a teardrop. He laid it on the table, and in defiance of gravity, it balanced itself with pointed-edge facing down. Once again moving his hands in the somatic gestures of a spell, he activated the magic that allowed him to communicate through the object. A darkness emanated from it, almost as if it devoured the light around it.

"Holy One," he spoke aloud. "As you commanded, we have the Pisces Stone in our possession. We are currently en route to Angkor."

Silence answered, but Virgil understood the unspoken words.

"I know what to do with it, my Lord," he told the silence, "but are you certain we can trust Abaddon to fulfill his end of the bargain?"

Again, he paused to listen to words that only he heard.

"I'll see to it, my Lord. The Gnostic carries it now, but I'm afraid we can't trust him. He tried to defy us at the Minoan temple."

Silence ….

"Indeed, it's disappointing, my Lord, but I'll ensure he won't be a problem ….

"Yes, I will remedy the situation ….

"Thank you, my Lord."

The small stone dimmed. Virgil's hands trembled as cold sweat appeared on his pale face. He placed the object back inside his coat, pleased with his master's new direction. With matters now concluded, he crawled onto his cot and passed out for several hours.


	10. Chapter 1: Part IX

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* * *

**Part IX**

_Morning of Terminus, Thirtieth Day of Harvestmoon_

* * *

The Heron returned to Angkor without further incident. Bram spent most of the time in his cabin, unwilling to risk further contact with Virgil. After falling victim to the chancellor's sorcery, he realized it would do no good to confront him directly. Mind compulsion was a rare and powerful art, and many countries banned it entirely—Angkor included. Instead, he would address the matter with his liege.

When his ship arrived at the capital, his navigations officer directed it into the military hangar, which was located deep underground. The entrance was a long vertical shaft, just outside the city walls, with a massively wide opening to accommodate the largest ships in the king's fleet. An impenetrable steel gate covered the entrance when the passage was not in use, to prevent the enemy from gaining access. It was part of a sophisticated underground military compound known as the Substratum.

Besides the hangar, the Substratum also contained military facilities such as training rooms, bunkers, an assembly hall, and of course the notorious dungeons. A long, circular stairwell spun around the center of the compound and connected each level to the surface. The passages eventually led to a small building in the capital's Inner Sanctum. Armed guardsmen stood on duty against possible infiltration, both inside and out.

Knowing how eagerly King Richard awaited his prize, Bram set off for the palace as soon as he reached the surface. His men followed closely behind, while Virgil marched by his side. Neither he nor the chancellor said a word to each other since leaving Minoa—and he preferred it that way. He intended to cite the unnecessary murders in the Minoan temple, and if possible, seek charges to be levied against the chancellor's use of forbidden magic.

Though he did not expect Richard to repudiate too harshly, the law mandated that the matter become public record, which would alert the wizard community. If lucky, the despicable man would be forced to endure many years of close monitoring—and in rare cases, rogue wizards who continued to disrespect the rules of their kind tended to be quietly assassinated before word of their deeds could harm the wizard community's already fragile reputation.

Inside the palace, the decorum relaxed as servants and honored guests went about their daily business. The Order of the Templars maintained order. They were the king's personal guard, and they had a strong reputation for their loyalty and discipline. Some claimed that a Templar could stand still for hours at a time without moving a muscle, but if anyone caused mischief, the Templar would leap from his post and take down the threat before any harm was done. Bram had his mind so focused on his speech with King Richard that he was shocked to have the Templar on duty deny him entrance to the throne room.

"What's the meaning of this?" Bram demanded. "King Richard expects me."

"Is Mister Garvey in your party, sir?" the Templar inquired.

Bram's heart sank. Not only was it an insult and violation of rank to allow a chancellor access before a Gnostic Knight, but it would also give Virgil a chance to sway Richard's opinion by telling a different side to the story. Bram barely had time to speak his mind before the chancellor pushed in front.

"I'm Virgil Garvey," he said.

The guard addressed him formally. "His Majesty requests your presence, sir. You have permission to enter."

Bram repressed his anger, glad to have his helmet to hide his sour expression. If Richard requested Virgil first, Bram had no choice but to wait his turn. His only solace was that he still possessed the sunstone—and of course expected his word and credibility to mean more than those of a newly appointed official. His hand went absently to his belt pouch, seeking comfort in the sunstone's presence. His fingers felt inside the leather case, rubbing the cold smooth surface. He let out a sigh of relief.

The Templar addressed Bram's soldiers. "You've been asked to return to your homes. The king will congratulate you later tonight with a celebration at his table. Sir Morrison—your presence is still required. You may sit in the meantime, or," the Templar gestured to a bench at the other side of the hall, "you may remain standing. I don't know how long it'll be."

"Forgive us, Captain," one of Bram's soldiers whispered, looking contrite.

Bram would not allow his men to share in his burden. They were his responsibility, and he intended to see them off with better spirits. "You performed your duty, soldier, and I've never had more pride in my crew. Now go—and if the king wills it, we'll speak again soon."

The soldier nodded and followed the others out of the main hall. Bram chose to remain standing until King Richard concluded his business with Virgil. No Gnostic would be caught dead sitting and waiting on a bench.

He spent the time rehearsing his interpretation of the events. The truth would not be easy to tell. He had to act responsively and intelligently to any accusations that Virgil might make against him. He found the speech difficult, since he did not quite believe it himself. Virgil's compulsion forced him and his men to perform atrocious acts that they would have never done on their own, but would Richard see it that way? Bram hoped his close ties and good record would stand up against the chancellor's chicanery.

While his mind filled with potential rebuttals, his gaze met that of the Templar on guard. Disappointingly, the man's helm hid his face—but his voice sounded familiar. Bram thought he might have met this man toward the end of the War, a time when King Richard sent his own elite forces to join the other ground units. Gnostics and Templars fought in the same platoon, and he remembered a few of them from the battle of Dobb's Plain. Their order only numbered in the dozens of men, so Bram felt he stood a good chance of knowing this particular man.

Several minutes passed, giving Bram more confidence in his defense. At that point, the door swung open and Virgil poked his head outside. He whispered something to the Templar, but the words were inaudible. Virgil might have used more magic to keep the conversation private.

The Templar turned to Bram. "Sir Morrison, His Majesty is ready to see you. Please proceed."

Bram wet his lips and entered the throne room. The Templar followed and closed the door behind them. Bram removed his helm out of respect, and beheld Richard's throne room.

The chamber was bathed in red, including the walls and carpets, but the sheer wealth saved it from being gaudy. Carnelian rubies dangled from drapes along the windows, while the crimson glow of a setting sun added gentle emphasis to the tone. Gold thread and diamonds made a path up the steps leading to the throne, where Richard Cromwell sat, his auburn beard complementing the rest of his décor. Two Templars stood at his sides, along with Virgil Garvey. It was a presumptuous place for a mere chancellor.

Bram knelt before his liege, holding the sunstone high above his head. "Your Grace, it's my honor and privilege to present you with your bounty, the Sunstone of Minoa."

Richard stood up and walked to the bottom of the stairs. The Templars followed him down. He spoke to Bram in bold words, in a proclamation that masqueraded as personal praise. "We thank you for completing your mission, Sir Morrison. On behalf of our nation and its people, we congratulate you for your success. You are asked to join us tonight as we celebrate your accomplishment."

"That would please me, Your Majesty."

Richard smiled. "Your king is also pleased. Now, hand me the sunstone."

Bram stood up, but hesitated before stepping forward. It was time to speak out against the travesties performed at the Minoan temple, or hold his peace forever.

"Your Majesty, it's my duty to report some details about the mission, concerning actions which may threaten our national interests. I request a chance to speak with you in private, since I intend to implicate … others in this room." Bram looked to Virgil's direction when he spoke, but the chancellor returned the look with a smug grin.

"There's no need," Richard responded. "Whoever you intend to implicate, they deserve to face their accuser."

Bram felt uneasy about accusing the chancellor in front of his face, but he was committed to delivering justice.

"Your Lordship, it concerns our confrontation in the Minoan temple. Your representative usurped my leadership by way of compulsion magic, and used his influence to murder the Minoan priests in what might have otherwise been a peaceful exchange under my supervision."

Richard looked over his shoulder back to Virgil. "Is this true, Mister Garvey?"

"It is, My Lord," the chancellor responded, "but I remind you that the Minoans are all accomplished wizards, with talents at least as great as my own. In all fairness to Sir Morrison, I don't think he recognized the magnitude of the threat. Rather than risk that one of these wizards would get the better of us, I chose to compel Sir Morrison and his soldiers to perform some tasks that were—let's say—_modified_ from the original plan. My motives were only to act as expeditiously as possible at a critical moment."

Richard clasped his hands together, looking satisfied. "So it's settled."

"Not so fast!" Bram volleyed back, enraged that Virgil would imply that he was somehow incompetent and unable to recognize the threat. He wanted to charge forward and wrap his hands in a vice grip around the chancellor's throat, and it took all his self-restraint to pose a rational rebuttal.

"If the Minoans presented a danger, the proper protocol would have been to brief me beforehand. My mission statement mentioned no requirement for sorcery, or I'd have brought _my own_ wizards. The fact is that I was told nothing of the mission, save for a pittance of details that Mister Garvey divulged at his own whim. And for what—so a chancellor from your court can embarrass our country for some … _some trinket_?"

"Control your tone in the king's court, Gnostic!" one of the Templars warned.

"Don't be alarmed," Richard placated with a calm and composed voice. "It's quite understandable that Sir Morrison is upset." He assumed a fatherly tone. "I'll give you peace of mind, my old friend, but first I ask that you hand over the sunstone. Don't make me ask again."

Bram stepped forward hastily to present the artifact. As he placed it on his monarch's up-faced palm, he saw it flash blue, just as it had done in the Minoan temple. In that instant, he saw something inside. It was a man—he was certain—but not a reflection of anyone in the room. As soon as Richard grasped it, the image disappeared.

"Your Majesty," Bram bowed, apologetically.

Richard cradled the stone tenderly, as a mother would an infant. One of the Templars fetched a silver tray, and held it before the king. After staring with wonder at its multi-faceted surface, Richard reluctantly placed it on the tray, and shifted his attention back to Bram.

"First, let me assure you that the confidentiality of the mission was put foremost before the details. I never intended to withhold the truth, and it's lamentable that the secrecy left you unprepared. Fortunately, I assigned a trusted ally to supervise. With Mister Garvey's aid, you completed your task in spite of the confusion. So it seems that everything worked out in the end."

Bram shook his head. "My Lord, I don't understand. How has a mid-level official so thoroughly earned your trust?"

Richard sighed. "I'd hoped you'd realize by now that Mister Garvey's title simply a formality." He paused, stroking his beard as if in deep thought. "I expect you to keep this confidential until I proclaim it officially, but I've already laid plans for Virgil to succeed to the role of First Advisor to the King."

Bram felt the blood drain from his face. He bowed his head, hoping to hide his expression. He was a fool—a damned fool! Virgil was untouchable as First Advisor, a position that would grant him power second only to Richard himself! Bram felt humiliated, and expected retribution to come in short order. He badly wanted to be out of the king's sight, but was trapped in front of his overpowering gaze.

"There's just one more matter, Sir Morrison."

"Yes, Sire?" Bram braced himself for what he knew was coming.

"Your words today have left a bitter taste. The sunstone may appear to you as a trinket, but did you not trust that I had a good reason to demand it from the Minoans?"

"Of course, My Lord!" Bram burst out, hoping to lessen the impending punishment. "You know of my years of loyalty and service. I've put you—and this country—before my own life on numerous occasions!"

"Indeed you have, Sir Morrison, but you must realize the burden this puts on the knighthood to have one of its members call my judgment into question."

Bram stood tall and confident. "I assure Your Lordship that I had no such intention. Yet I wonder how a man whom I've never met is suddenly granted a seat at your right hand—or how a Gnostic is to perform his duties if not briefed of his tasks beforehand. I simply want to ensure that those in whom you've placed your trust do not deceive you. Therefore, I ask if this prize is worth the value you've placed on it, or the impact to our nation's pride and reputation to have murdered lowly priests in order to obtain it."

Bram stood awaiting his judgment. Not that he intended to challenge a king, but he had the courage to defend his liege from someone who he believed to be a charlatan. If that should lead to repudiation, then so be it.

Richard only smiled. "Your intrepidity is a nod to the knighthood, Sir Morrison. It's true that the sunstones have been around for most of recorded history, and while many scholars have studied them, no one has ever discovered anything of value. The Gaians have always claimed a connection with the Divine, but only a fool would put their faith in a dead religion."

Richard had a glint in his eye and a passion for his words, as if he had practiced them a hundred times. "Therefore, I forgive your skepticism and applaud your sensibilities. After all, if there were powers within the sunstones, why should we be the first to discover them? How did our enemies fall to our might during the War, when they could have used their own sunstones against us? I believe a demonstration is in order."

Richard headed back to the silver platter that held the sunstone, while his smug-looking and soon-to-be First Advisor joined him.

"I ask that you come to the top of the stairs, Sir Morrison," Richard invited, "and witness the sky outside this window."

The view behind the throne gave an exquisite panorama of the surrounding district. Dusk slowly settled, and the last rays of sunlight bathed the trees and fountains in a gentle light. Virgil bent toward his king and whispered a few inaudible words into his ear.

Richard took the sunstone in his left hand and chanted words in the language of magic. He extended his arms, and dark clouds gathered from the outskirts of the orange sky, casting menacing shadows over the capital. The dull rumble of thunder reverberated through the palace's thick walls, sending people outside quickly running for cover. In moments, the clouds swirled and twisted like water spiraling down a drain. Darkness covered the courtyard, and forks of lightning streaked across the sky.

Bram knew that Richard had little or no training in wizardry, but with the sunstone's powers, he had control over unfathomable magic. Somehow, the forces inside the stone had been unlocked. The king curled the fingers of his right hand into a fist, and a bolt of pure divine energy shot down from the heavens, engulfing one of the tall oaks in a pillar of flame. Richard let it burn for a moment, but then he relaxed his fist into a flat palm. A downpour of rain fell directly onto the oak, quenching the fire.

In place of the once mighty tree, a charred and blackened trunk now stood, with most of the lesser branches consumed by the fire. Richard lowered his arms, and the storm disappeared. The quiescent sky returned, and the final rays of sunlight streamed through the window. Except for the skeletal remains of the oak, the courtyard was once again at peace.

Wearing a satisfied smile, Richard hurried to one of his Templars and ordered him to leave the manor and assure the people outside that they would be safe, and have nothing more to fear from the sky that day.

Bram merely stared out the window in disbelief, unable to repress the anxiety that stirred in his heart. He had seen with his own eyes the power and might of the sunstone. "Your Majesty … forgive my earlier skepticism! I had no idea the sunstone was capable of such might!"

"It has a name, you know," Richard explained as he approached, the sunstone still in his hands. The last rays of sunlight glinted across its many facets. "Long ago, people called it the Pisces Stone. Of course, that name hasn't been used for centuries. There are three others like it, but the kingdoms that possess them have no concept of their power. That's why we upheld the utmost confidentiality in your mission. You can imagine how exposed we'd be, if our enemies learned to utilize this power. They'd surely use it against us."

"But how did you come to learn of these powers?" Bram asked.

Richard hardly needed to respond. Bram saw the smile that crept upon Virgil's lips.

"Ah yes," the king mused. "Now you understand. Mister Garvey happened upon this discovery, and of course brought it to my attention. We owe him much for his loyalty."

Bram's insides were overturned with anger. No wonder Virgil was so overconfident. He had known the sunstone's secret before the mission to Minoa ever began, and Bram was a fool to ever challenge him. But what now? He needed to know the extent of Richard's ambition.

"So I suppose you intend to reclaim the others?" he asked.

"But of course, Sir Morrison. No nation in history has ever possessed all four. With their combined might, ours would become the greatest empire that has ever existed!"

"How then would you go about it? Return to war with Koba and Kitezh by seizing theirs by force?"

Richard laughed. "What else would you have me do? Allow my enemies to learn of these powers over time, so that they can use their own sunstones against us? We have no recourse but to be the aggressor, before word of this power can spread."

Bram said nothing. His king had reason to laugh, if it were only that simple. And yet, it felt so wrong.

"Your Majesty," Virgil interjected, "I simply can't stand by while you lecture to this Gnostic on a course so flawless and obvious that it is painful for others to watch. Either he's with us or against us. I'll leave it to your wisdom to determine which."

Bram's blood boiled with rage. He would not allow the manipulative bastard to direct his king's anger against him. "How dare you—" he growled.

"Be at ease, Sir Knight," Richard urged. "I ask you plainly—where is your heart in this matter?"

For once in his life, Bram searched his feelings. His first instinct was to follow King Richard unquestioningly, but he thought about the Minoans, who had recently felt the wrath of Angkor's might. With Richard aiming for all of the sunstones, where would it leave the rest of the world? Would his ambitions seek to subjugate all of Gaia?

No. Bram knew his king, and the man was not a tyrant. In fact, he had passed on much of Angkor's prosperity to its citizens since the end of the War. If more pain and suffering was in store for Richard's enemies, then surely it would lead to peace and prosperity for his allies. Bram's loyalties had always been well placed in his liege, and he saw no reason not to stay the course.

"My Lord, despite what your First Advisor thinks of me, I am loyal to you in all ways." He finished with an appropriately low and humble bow.

"Your Majesty, his words are not convincing," Virgil argued. "You explained your cause in good faith, yet he hesitates—and his face is filled with doubt. If he truly supported us, his eyes would be afire with lust for this power."

Bram would not stand by while this filthy dog besmirched his honor in front of his own king! He reached for his sword in anger, a move that was followed quickly by a reaction from the Templars. Bram knew he would never close the distance to Virgil before they struck him down.

"Remember you're in the presence of the king, knave!" one of the Templars shouted. Bram removed his hand from his sword and waited for them to relax. They did not.

"Virgil, I see no reason to condemn this man," Richard stated in Bram's defense. "He's already proven his trustworthiness. What more would you ask of him?"

Virgil paused, no doubt conjuring a fitting contest. He gestured for Richard to draw near, at which point he whispered a suggestion in his ear.

"Ah, yes," Richard nodded, looking satisfied. Turning his attention to Bram, he asked, "Are you familiar with the tribes living in the Mountains of Ur?"

"The Conjurions?" Bram was baffled, but he gave an honest answer. "I know of them, My Lord, but I've never been to that region."

"Few people have," Richard explained. "It's a remote valley high in the mountains, and there's little reason to venture so far. However, it's come to my attention that they've grown to resent our reach and influence, and now they've threatened us with their powers."

"How much of a threat can they be," Bram wondered, "especially now that we have the sunstone's power? Surely we can defend ourselves from any attack."

"It's not the tribesmen themselves that we are worried about," Richard answered. "Rather, the threat is from their unique magical powers."

Bram shook his head, failing to make the connection, so Richard continued his explanation.

"The Conjurion tribe has the power to summon spawn into our world. We now know that the infestation of creatures in this area is the direct result of their witchcraft—and yet, what we've seen to date is a mere fraction of their powers. Unfortunately, with their homeland protected by the mountains, the power of the Pisces Stone is not enough. Our airships are unable to penetrate the wall of fog that surrounds their village, and neither can I spare my ground forces, since I need them to acquire the other sunstones. What I need is a more tactical infiltration, led by someone with your expertise."

Bram finally understood. "You'd like me to deal with the Conjurion threat. I'd be honored, My Lord. What would you have me do?"

"I need you to assassinate their chief."

"Their chief, Sire? Would that not enrage them further?"

"Nay, our generals believe the current chief to be the source of their animosity. They believe that eliminating the tribal leader will calm their anger, and allow us time to acquire the other sunstones."

Bram did not like the idea of going from one mission of bloodshed to another, but at least he understood the reasons behind it. If the tribal chief was willing to incite violence, then he had to be eliminated.

"I accept the mission, Your Majesty. By my sword, I'll slay the Conjurion chief."

"Excellent, Sir Morrison," Richard responded happily. "If you accomplish this task, I'll invite you within my inner circle. Only a small number know of my full ambitions. If we accomplish our goals, the rewards shall be greater than you could possibly imagine."

Richard turned to the Templar behind him and whispered something. The man went to a cabinet at the back of the room, and retrieved what appeared to be a small metal box with red runes carved on the sides. He handed the box to Richard, who directed his attention back to Bram.

"Allow me to explain your mission. First and foremost, the tribesmen must never learn that Angkor is responsible for the assassination. We've therefore prepared a device that you must plant nearby the chief's location. Once you accomplish this task, you must return to Angkor without being seen."

"How does the device work, exactly?" Bram asked.

"Good that you should ask, Sir Morrison. I'll let Mister Garvey explain."

Bram's nemesis approached, causing his body to tense with hatred.

"This ordinary chest has been constructed with black magic," the vile man explained. "If placed nearby the chief, its magic will search out and kill on its own. All it requires is a charge from the Pisces Stone to give it power."

Virgil nodded to Richard, who still had the sunstone within his grasp. Richard spoke more words of magic, and touched the stone to the box. For a moment, the box glowed with a soft red hue.

"Careful you don't jar it too strongly," Virgil warned, his mouth upturned in a grin. "I assure you—you won't want it opened prematurely."

Bram took the box and placed it carefully under his arm. He wanted nothing more than to be out of the room and away from the contemptible man who single-handedly stripped him of his rank and usurped his relationship with his king.

"Shall I take my leave, Sire?" he asked with a bow.

"Not just yet," Richard responded. "I've arranged a guide for your mission. He can lead you through the mountains of Ur, and help to combat any spawn you encounter."

"It won't be necessary, Your Majesty. I have all the necessary training."

"You may want to reconsider, Sir Morrison," Richard warned. "The mountain route is fraught with danger, including one spawn in particular that is known to be quite strong. It is certain to block your path."

"Who is this guide?" Bram wondered.

"It is I, Bram."

He spun around to greet the Templar guard from earlier. The man strode forward and removed his helm, revealing a man of about thirty years, with dark blond hair loosely tied back. A short stubble covered his cheeks and chin, neatly shaped along the contours. His neck and upper lip were cleanly shaven. Bram could tell the last decade had aged him prematurely, especially around the eyes. Even so, he recognized his old friend instantly.

"Kane … I can't believe it's you, after all these years," he stated, taken completely by surprise.

For an instant, his anger and disappointment disappeared, replaced with joy and nostalgia. His heart was still heavy with the burden of his demotion, but seeing Kane was small reprieve, and a glorious interruption from the embarrassment he had just endured.

"I take it you know this man?" Richard asked.

Bram faced his liege. "Yes, My Lord. We grew up on the outskirts of Niedam, and also spent time together at the Academy before Kane left to join the Templars."

"Then it appears to be serendipity," Richard concluded. "Now that it's settled, you shall both leave for Ur first thing tomorrow."

Bram bowed again before his king. "Yes, Sire."

After leaving the throne room, Bram felt a firm grip on his shoulder. Kane had followed him out.

"I know this isn't how you would've wanted us to reunite, Bram."

Bram nodded, still too humiliated to respond. After a decade long absence, he did not want his first encounter with his childhood friend to be while ostracized before his own king.

Even so, Kane was well composed, and wore a look of warmth and confidence. "I'm here to support you. This exercise is the only thing that stands in the way of an opportunity of a lifetime. I also want to hear about your life since leaving the Academy. In the meantime, I'll leave you to prepare for the banquet tonight."

Bram had almost forgotten about the king's celebration. After all that had happened, he wanted to hide from the prying eyes and sharp whispers of Richard's court. But after Kane's words of support, he felt he had to muster something.

"We'll talk more tomorrow, then," he said.

"I'll look forward to it," Kane returned

Bram made an effort to smile and left the palace.


	11. Chapter 1: Part X

**.**

* * *

**Part X**

_Evening of Terminus, Thirtieth Day of Harvestmoon_

* * *

As soon as Rosa learned of the Heron's return, she set off for the West Plaza in the capital's Outer Sanctum. She knew that Bram crossed this wide open square when traveling from the palace, and was excited to meet him half-way. She only hoped that rumors of bizarre weather patterns would not delay his landing.

Upon arriving in the plaza, she scanned the bustling crowd. He had not yet arrived, so she sat on a stone bench to wait. The gardens looked so beautiful in the evening. Fragrant roses grew around tall oaks, which provided an elegant canopy. Small lampposts illuminated the cobblestone path as the sun slowly slipped behind the distant mountains. The light from the lamps came from magical rocks called luminess. They carried a charge for weeks at a time, and even novice wizards knew how to make them.

She beamed at the prospect of mending her worn relationship. She wanted to prove once and for all that her father was wrong about Bram, and that they would share a bond forever. Standing in front of Cedric's model made her relive a time when she had revived him from the brink of death. Though years of peace had weakened their bond, a single remembrance brought it all back.

To her, it meant something profound. While awaiting his return, she thought back to the rift that had caused them to grow apart. She believed it started when she was willing to accept civilian life, at her father's behest. He had long desired to see her wed, raising heirs, and establishing her place on Angkor's social ladder. However, embracing that lifestyle was precisely what had pushed her lover away.

Most people misunderstood Bram's true nature. He was not the cold and detached knight that people saw at first glance. Rather, he had a heart of compassion that he kept hidden behind a wall made of black Gnostic armor. The real reason he fought so hard was to protect Angkor's citizens from the tyranny of invading nations. He did not admit it outwardly, but his upbringing had nurtured a soft spot for the weak and downtrodden. Fighting for the underprivileged was important to him, and it gave him a purpose. By siding with the nobility, Rosa had undermined that.

She should have realized it sooner, but somewhere in her life's journey, she had lost touch with her own deep-rooted beliefs. Much like Bram, she had once desired a life of helping others. Her childhood stories of Isabella Clairvaux fostered an interest in the healing side of white magic. She had hoped to pursue a formal education, but her father stood in her way.

He was among a conservative class of businessmen within Angkor who distrusted wizards, fearing that their growing power and influence would inevitably threaten the stability of the current establishment—which had kept the kingdom prosperous for decades. As such, he forbade her from attending any of Angkor's schools of sorcery.

Even in the face of his embargo, she found a way to sneak funds from the family's coffers to pay for a tutor. When her father found out, he beat her severely. It was the only time he had ever laid a hand upon her, but she was not dissuaded. In fact, it made her even more determined to follow through, even as she faced down numerous threats to disown her from the family fortune.

Fortunately, it never came down to that. A well-respected headmaster of a school of white wizardry heard of her potential and visited her father's estate to offer a scholarship. Getting this kind of attention was highly prestigious, and it became the talk of the town. With word propagating on the success of the banker's daughter, he reversed his position and demanded that she follow through.

She spent the next several years studying, until the government redirected the students for combat. Once again, her father attempted to turn her from the craft, but his efforts only cemented her resolve.

In the middle of her fifth term as a student, the military took a group of young wizards on a field exercise in the Saladina Desert, near the base of the Snowy Mountains. Rosa volunteered to be a prefect, where she instructed the novices in basic training. The first several hours proceeded without issue, but a careless error by the accompanying professor led them into an ambush by a squad of Kitezhian soldiers. Rosa had barely enough time to grab the arms of two young female students before the enemy assaulted them. She directed the girls up the mountain to hide, casting spells to increase their running speed. Even so, the soldiers tracked them, knowing the value of slaying enemy wizards.

After hours of running and on the brink of exhaustion, she at last found salvation. Looking skyward, she noticed an airship overhead. Casting so many spells had left her weak, but she summoned enough strength for one final incantation. In full daylight, she cast a flare that she hoped was bright enough to catch the ship's attention. She only hoped they would respond, for the signal would also reveal her location to her pursuers.

With the last of her energy spent, she sagged against the side of the mountain. The two girls huddled by her side, sobbing with fear. She instructed them to be brave, but she could barely contain her own terror. It did not take long before she heard shouts from the enemy. When they reached her, she would be cornered and helpless. She closed her eyes awaiting death, when she heard a voice from her side.

"Hey, over here," it whispered.

She stood up and placed herself in front of the cowering girls.

"Don't be alarmed—I'm Angkorian." A man popped out from a pile of rocks. She recognized the black armor of a Gnostic Knight. Pointing back the way he came, he continued. "The way to my ship is up that path. We saw your signal and came to help."

"There are others," she explained. "We were ambushed in the desert. Did they escape?"

"I don't know," he responded, "but you must hurry."

She turned to where he pointed, but before walking more than a few steps, the sound of the enemy erupted behind her.

"The witch is over here!" one of the Kitezhians yelled.

The Gnostic Knight drew his sword and leaped to the closest enemy, piercing him in the chest before he had a chance to react. Two more Kitezhians rounded the mountainside and were dispatched just as swiftly. Rosa watched in amazement, unable to leave her rescuer behind. She urged the girls toward the path up the mountain, and told them to follow it to the airship. They obeyed her immediately.

With renewed strength, she ran toward the knight to join him in battle. She recalled the incantation for a shield and cast it in time to deflect an enemy blow. The knight turned and slashed at the man, killing him instantly. He stopped his swordplay long enough to wink at her before leaping to the others, ending the battle with eight more kills.

Afterward, she joined him on his airship and learned that his name was Bram Morrison, a man whose reputation had already spread throughout Angkor. Later, she found out her other classmates had perished in the ambush. Bram tried to comfort her by asking her to join him. Through mixed emotion, she agreed, and from then on, they traveled and fought together.

Of course, once the War had ended and peace reigned again, white wizardry had little to offer outside of medical research or hospital duty. She had no interest in these professions, so she instead became the daughter her father had always wanted. He was pleased with her change of heart, and she grew content with her chosen lifestyle.

Only now did she realize that her choice had come with a price. Although it was easy to get used to servants, a big house, and new social connections, none of these trifles made her any happier. In fact, she hated her father's superficial friends and detested her transformation into a mockery of the warrior she had once been. Her father would never understand, but she had to choose her own path. Like Bram, she felt the need for a greater purpose.

She nearly burst from the anticipation of revealing her change of heart to Bram. Growing impatient, she looked to the edge of the square, where a Vinetan pub played festive music. She recognized a few of Bram's men as they stepped outside, blissful and drunk. She found it curious to see them without their captain, and wondered if Bram had already passed her by. She was almost ready to backtrack when she finally saw a man in black armor walk underneath the central stone arch.

"Bram!" she called out, running into his warm embrace. "I'm so glad you're not hurt. I was so anxious!"

"What's this all about?" he asked with a forced smile. "I would've come sooner, but King Richard insisted on speaking with me personally."

"That's fantastic news! I'm so proud of your accomplishments!"

For some reason, his mood darkened and he shook his head.

"Bram, what is it?" she asked, concerned. She put a hand on his shoulder to try to draw him in.

"It's nothing," he responded, once again regaining his composure. "I'm just exhausted. By the way, we've been invited to the king's banquet this evening. It's to honor the mission's successful completion."

"That sounds like wonderful news … but you seem upset. What's the matter?"

He sighed. "I'd rather be catching up on rest, but I'm obliged to attend. It's a formality, and I'm not too thrilled about it. That's it."

"Well, either way, I came as soon as I'd heard you returned. You never told me you were leaving, so I was worried."

Bram looked at her apologetically. "You know my mandate. I can't talk about my missions."

"I understand," she responded. Her heart beat strong and fast. She wanted to blurt out her feelings, but the timing did not seem right.

"There's something I want to tell you," she began. "It concerns us both, but it's a longer discussion, and I don't want to start it now. Let's attend the banquet first, and enjoy the honors bestowed upon you. We can speak more later."

"Sure, of course," he responded, in his typical emotionless voice.

He smiled. Again it seemed forced, but at least he offered her his arm. They walked back to the manor, looking at the stars as they appeared in the sky, and saying nothing.


	12. Chapter 1: Part XI

**.**

* * *

**Part XI**

_Night of Terminus, Thirtieth Day of Harvestmoon_

* * *

It did not take long for Bram to tire of the king's banquet. Many of the nation's wealthiest magnates attended, and it had all the makings of a grand farce. He shook plenty of hands and received so many compliments he lost count. It would have felt great under other circumstances, but he knew the feast was not really in his honor. Rather, it was a self-congratulatory event for the aristocracy to celebrate the conquest of another piece of the world—a fostering of national pride in a bald attempt to justify the kingdom's aggressive warmongering. It sickened him, and it took a conscious effort to maintain composure. As soon as etiquette allowed, he bid farewell to his former crew and friends, and made for the door. On his way out, he came across a familiar face.

"Ah, Mister Curtis," he greeted to Angkor's Grand Craftsman with an outstretched hand. "I'm glad to see you made it."

Cedric returned the gesture with a mighty grip. "Sir Morrison, a very welcome pleasure it is. We haven't spoken in more than a year, and I've been eager to hear how you've been. Are you here with Lady Reynolds?"

"Yes, Rosa's nearby. I've been meaning to introduce you—" Bram looked over his shoulder, hoping to make quick introductions and leave the banquet behind him. Unfortunately, she was trapped in a conversation with three haughty noblewomen who appeared to be gossiping her ear off. He frowned at missing his chance to conclude quickly.

"We've already met, actually," Cedric returned, as he took a sideways step to get in front of Bram's vision. "It was last year, at the Unification Day centennial."

Bram remembered that day well. It was the first time he had left Rosa behind. King Richard had ordered him to assess the military capabilities of the empire of Ek' Balam on the Southern Continent. He knew she was looking forward to the event, but his mission had mandated that he leave in secret. He found out later that she had attended alone—knowledge that filled him with profound regret. He carried it with him ever since.

"She's a wonderful woman," Cedric complimented. "You're very fortunate."

Bram nodded politely, still hoping to move on and leave the craftsman to the other guests. But the man kept talking. Bram gritted his teeth.

"So, tell me how my airship is doing."

Thinking of the Heron lightened the mood a bit, and Bram smiled. "She continues to fly like the day she was built, my friend. She never disappoints."

"That's good to hear." Cedric's toothy grin crept wider. It looked like he had something to say, but was still determining the right way to frame it. Bram wondered if it would be impolite to cut the conversation short—but before he slipped away, Cedric found his words.

"I've been meaning to ask," he began. "It's just a rumor, to be sure, but I'd heard you might be moving on from your role as captain." He took a moment to utter a nervous laugh, as if responding to the awkwardness of the moment. "Probably none of my business, but I recall how much time we spent customizing the Heron's design to your specifications. I just can't imagine another man at its helm."

Bram took a deep breath. He did not appreciate Cedric's intrusion into private matters, nor did he care for his poor attempt at flattery. Clearly the Grand Craftsman had his connections, but his motives for breaching such a sensitive subject were a mystery that made Bram wonder.

"The rumors are true, Cedric, but I ask that you be a bit more … _discerning_ about things you hear around the hangar. The truth is that King Richard has asked me to go on a solo mission outside the country, so I'll be parting with the Heron for its duration, and potentially other missions to follow."

Cedric furrowed his brow. "I don't understand," he admitted. "Who's going to captain her in your absence?"

"I believe that's for the king to decide, but I'm sure your ship will be in good hands."

Cedric's smile returned, though Bram sensed that it was forced. "Well, I confess I find this news to be most … extraordinary." He said it innocently, though his eyes betrayed insincerity. "I just can't seem to recall the last time a captain was asked to perform solo work in the field."

Bram's lips pressed tightly together, and he was put off by the constant prying. "I'm not sure I understand what you're implying, but either way, the mission's classified. If you must know, I was promised a fair reward, and found it hard to refuse."

Bram lied about the last part, but not because he cared to save his pride. Rather, he knew full well the consequences of revealing confidential matters, especially directives straight from the king—and he hoped his lie would satisfy Cedric's curiosity. The craftsman was a shrewd fellow, and though Bram had worked well with him in the past, he did not want to complicate things further by having Cedric snoop about while he was gone.

Cedric nodded reluctantly, looking slightly abashed. "Of course," he said in a manner that sounded like an apology. "I offer you best wishes for your journey. May the king's good graces be with you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've been working late, and this party has me exhausted."

At last, the conversation seemed to be at an end. "Live in good health, Mister Curtis," Bram replied, glad it was all over.

"You as well, sir." After one more polite nod, Cedric headed toward the door.

Bram saw his opportunity to leave as well. He found Rosa talking to the same three women by the champagne table, and decided to rescue her. He sent a small gesture with his head, and she excused herself from the conversation.

"Hello, dear, enjoying the party?" she asked when she reached his side.

"The time of my life …" he said curtly. Taking note of her crestfallen look, he tried again in a brighter tone. "I think it's time for me to head to bed, Rosie. Do you need to make any final goodbyes before we leave?"

"Not at all," she said, extending her hand. He took it, curling his forearm around hers. Turning towards the door, Bram and Rosa left the party to the other guests.


	13. Chapter 1: Part XII

**.**

* * *

**Part XII**

_Night of Terminus, Thirtieth Day of Harvestmoon_

* * *

Bram and Rosa arrived at their manor house, still locked arm in arm. Neither said a word since leaving the king's banquet. The stars lit their path, and Bram took the opportunity to bask in her presence, not knowing when he might see her again. It felt like a good time to say something, to try to heal the rift between them, but the moment felt too precious to be wasted with words.

The chambermaid awaited them in the foyer.

"Milord," she greeted, curtsying as Bram entered. Then turning to Rosa, with a nod, "Milady, I've changed the sheets and turned down the pillows, as you requested."

"Thank you. That will be all," Bram dismissed.

"Milord, I've also laid out clothes for your travels. I trust you still intend to depart early tomorrow morning?"

Whether it was accidental or a deliberate attempt to meddle, the maid had nevertheless ruined his attempt to depart in secret. Rosa's head spun around, and her eyes went wide. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

"What's the matter with you?" Bram shook a clenched fist at the chambermaid. The young girl shrank back. "I asked you specifically to keep these arrangements private—Rosa, wait!" He reached for her hand, but she had already fled up the stairwell.

He was furious. Ignoring the chambermaid's fumbling apologies, he yelled additional curses as he chased his despondent lover up the stairs. His pursuit led him to the master bedroom. At the head of a freshly made bed, Rosa dabbed her eyes with the frills of a lace handkerchief.

"So … you've just arrived, and already you intend to leave again without telling me?"

Bram halted in mid breath. He did not know how to respond.

"Is that it?" she pressed. "You confide your intentions in a servant girl, and yet for me you're silent?"

Bram wished he could come up with a justification, but nothing came to mind. "It's complicated."

Rosa laughed in between her tears. "Do you have any idea how I feel when you leave for days a time, and I'm left to wonder where you are—or even if you're still alive?"

This was exactly the conversation he had hoped to avoid. "Perhaps you ought to have more faith," he reproached. "I've survived worse ordeals."

She opened her mouth as if to retort, but held her tongue. "Bram, please," she let out. She dabbed her eyes once more with the handkerchief, and placed it on a small tray at the end of her dresser. "I don't want to quarrel."

"Neither do I." He inched forward, wanting to reach out and hold her, but he hesitated. He wanted to explain everything, including the frustration and embarrassment welling up in his heart—but it would solve nothing. Rosa was different now, and she would never understand. She might have, at one time, but not anymore.

"It's different this time," he said. "It's best if I just left quietly."

She looked at him pleadingly. "Why can't you trust me, Bram? We can talk through it, like we used to."

He scoffed. "Rosie … I'm aware of your distaste for the knighthood. You've told me enough times how offensive you find their exploits … as if fighting beside me during the War was any different. Either way, you're better off now."

"Well, it's all about to change," she promised. "I've been doing some thinking."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't like being away from you, anymore. I've found a way for us to be together—"

"You mean marriage?" Bram crossed his arms, and his voice took on a cynical edge. He had an idea about where the conversation was headed. It was a path like numerous others, carved out over many moonlit discussions. "You've been speaking with your father again, haven't you?"

"No—I mean, yes … I mean—"

"How many times must we go through this? He's only interested in one thing—"

"I know, Bram, but will you just listen? It's not about him, nor is it about marriage. The fact is I've changed my mind about civilian life altogether. I want to give it all up, so I can travel the world with you, like we used to."

He stared at her, speechless and dumbfounded by her radical change of heart. Though he had always wanted to hear these words, the timing was terrible, and he doubted if she had even given it enough thought. It was surely nothing more than a passing fancy. He shook his head, brushing it aside.

"Just like _that_, huh? What brought about these fickle notions?"

Rosa looked surprised. "I've come to this conclusion on my own, and there's nothing fickle about it! I've seen how we've drifted apart, and I'm ready to start over."

So that was it. It was the right conversation, but the worst possible moment. Not that his heart did not yearn for her company, but he could not expose her to the dangers this time. Even if the last few days had never happened, the knighthood no longer allowed white wizards to accompany their Gnostics. The War had been an exception—borne from necessity—but the knighthood had always intended its members to work alone. And it was far more complicated now, given the dangers with the sunstones, and the fact that he had been reassigned. He could not involve her, for her own safety.

"It's too late," he concluded. "It's not like the old days."

"Why can't it be?" she pouted.

He scoffed again. She was determined, and yet naïve to the danger. He needed to put things firmly. He pointed with his index finger to add emphasis. "It's out of the question, Rosa, and this is the last time I'll say this. Things are different now, and you can't go where I'm going!"

"And why not …?" she challenged with eyes afire.

He returned her look with eyes of frost, but had no answer. He could not explain in the heat of the moment. Even a single word would put her in danger. He simply wanted the conversation to end. Better to deal with it another time.

"If you knew the answer, you wouldn't need to ask. Out of respect, I won't drag this out any further. I'll sleep in the guesthouse tonight, and if you still feel the same way, then we can finish this when I return."

"Bram," she pleaded. "Please, don't go."

It was better to leave … better for her. He headed for the door.

"Bram …" her voice trailed off as he placed his hand upon the door's latch. He forced himself not look back.

"Bram!" she hollered in a tone he had never heard from her before. It halted him in his tracks. "How dare you turn your back on me, after all we've been through?" Her voice cracked in between the tears. "You used to trust me with your life, but now you don't even treat me with respect! Of course I want things like they used to be. I don't care for this manor house, or my father's company. I thought that maybe it would lead to a more comfortable lifestyle, but it turns out no matter how hard I tried, it would never live up to what we had when it was just the two of us. I love you, Abraham. I want to start over."

Bram remained with his back to her. It was impossible to make things right. He knew her heart was being crushed at that very moment, because his was as well. But what choice did he have? It was for her own protection!

"Fine!" she shouted, her voice filled with venom. "Go on your precious mission, and keep the _glory_ for yourself!" She grabbed a nearby perfume bottle from the nightstand and threw it. It struck the wall near Bram's face, staining the ornate wallpaper with scents of peppermint. The glass shards fell upon the white wool carpet, catching moonbeams as they tumbled in the tense air. "But don't expect me to be here when you get back!"

He could no longer contain himself. He spun around with eyes that were filled with fire. All the words he had held on his tongue were ready to lash out.

"Keep the glory for myself? Is that what you think? You know _nothing_, Rosa! I've risked my life to bring peace to this country, but those days are over! Richard no longer needs the knights to fight his enemies, for he has none! You think I push you aside for some kind of self-aggrandizement? Bah! I distance myself to protect you! And so I can hide … from the _shame_ of what I do!"

He gripped the latch and unhinged the entire door from its frame. His strength shattered the old wood, causing splinters to rain down upon the wool carpet. Alongside the glittery shards of glass from the perfume bottle, the slivers of wood seemed complementary—as if the room's decorators had intended for them to be together.

Rosa cringed. He had never acted violently in front of her, except for on the battlefield. But there he stood, his words laid out on the floor alongside shards of glass and wood. There was no taking them back, or asking her to unhear his confessions.

His face resumed its usual unemotional state, but inside he wanted to weep. "I'm sorry," he muttered with creased lips. "I should go."

She made her way to the doorway. He still breathed heavily, but did not defy her movements. She put a gentle hand on his arm, and with her other hand, turned his face toward hers. There was no anger or condemnation in her eyes—only empathy.

"I want you to look at me, and listen carefully, Bram. I've stood by your side in the midst of peril, and I'm proud to face it again. You used put your trust in me, so all I ask is that you do so now, and tell me your story."

Rosa's words gave him comfort and relief, but if he stayed inside her gaze, his own words would come pouring out. So he turned away. "If I had it my way, Rosie, I'd shield you from what I've done. I'm afraid of the danger it puts you in, if I utter even a single word."

"We can handle it together," she assured him. She placed her hand once again on his chin, and forced him to look inside her eyes. He saw courage and determination, the same strength with which he had once fallen in love. Her eyes narrowed, daring his convictions. He could not hold back any longer.

"Very well," he said, still fearful but now committed. "Come here."

He led her to the bed and let his fingers gently caress her skin. How he missed it ….

He started with a deep breath. As he let it out, he told her how he came to transport a newly appointed chancellor who had carried a document with the king's seal—giving him complete authority over all aspects of the mission.

"As a Gnostic, I'm familiar with most of Richard's senior officials, but I'd never met this man. His name is Virgil Garvey, and I distrusted him from the first moment I saw him. Our mission statement was unusually vague, and the chancellor only divulged bits and pieces at a time when I pressed for them. I learned that Richard had his sights set on the sunstone of Minoa—and for some reason, it was important enough to send _a Gnostic _to get it."

Rosa wore a look of intense concentration. He knew her well enough to know that she calculated inference from his words, and was quite good at picking up on subtleties. He continued.

"We followed Virgil's plan until we gained entry to the meditation chamber inside the Minoan temple. The mission statement had initially set terms to barter for the sunstone, but instead of opening negotiations, Virgil began by making threats. Of course, I objected to his tactics, but he's an accomplished black wizard. He cast a spell of compulsion that forced me and my men to bend to his will. I tried to resist, but I could only watch as my own men slaughtered innocent Minoan priests until the Elder exposed himself."

Rosa gasped. "He _murdered_ them? For the sunstone?"

Bram nodded. "I suspected treachery from the beginning, and should never have allowed Virgil to usurp my command. As captain, I alone am responsible!"

"Bram, no one can blame you," she interjected. "There's no way for a person untrained in the Arts to resist that kind of magic. I'm surprised that a mere chancellor has reached such an accomplished level of mastery. Compulsion is a complex Art, and it's banned in most of the world. If the Conclave found out—"

"I know how the wizard community feels about this magic, which was why I'd intended to report this to Richard. I expected him to condemn Virgil's dishonorable conduct, but I was wrong. When we returned, he denied me entrance to the throne room in order to speak to Virgil alone. I entered later, prepared to leverage my personal history and record of credibility, but it turns out he and Virgil had been colluding all along."

Bram explained all that had transpired in the throne room, including Virgil's new role as First Advisor. Her face turned grim the moment as she realized the extent of Virgil's involvement. Her eyes went even wider when Bram described the demonstration of the sunstone's powers.

"So King Richard—with no training in wizardry except for Virgil's instructions—used the sunstone's power to command the weather? There are perhaps only a few black wizards in the world with the talents to do this."

"You should have seen it, Rosa. The lightning came down from the sky and incinerated a two hundred year old oak in seconds!"

Rosa gasped. "Such power is beyond known wizardry … how is it possible that no one else has discovered how to unlock these powers?"

Bram shook his head. "I don't know. They didn't explain _how_ they discovered the sunstone's secrets, only that Virgil was the source. That's why Richard promoted him to the country's top executive position."

Rosa shook her head. "So all that happened at the banquet—the festivities, the toasting, the speeches—it was all a farce?"

"That's right," Bram admitted. "Richard is a master at playing politics, and he didn't want public opinion to sympathize with Minoa. Tonight, he commemorated the attack, and now his court has shared in the accolades. None of them would dare to turn against him now, even if the truth were to come out. They would be seen as hypocrites, and it would destroy them. They'll have no choice but to remain his accomplices."

"Then what can we do?" Rosa wondered. "Surely you won't consider going on your mission after all this?"

Bram lowered his head. "It's more complicated than that, Rosa. I stood against Virgil, and now he's cast doubt on my loyalty. I must complete this mission to prove my fealty to the king. He's asked me to travel to the mountain valley of Ur, and assassinate the tribal chief."

Rosa let out an exasperated breath. "You can't be serious! After slaying innocent Minoans, Richard now wants you to attack the Ur tribe? What threat does he have to fear from them?"

"He claims the tribes are responsible for the increased spawn activity."

Rosa threw up her hands. "But that's nonsense—spawn are a global threat. Besides, the Ur tribe has lived in the mountains in timid seclusion for centuries. They would be crazy to attack Angkor, even if they did harbor ill feelings."

"I know, Rosa. I'm not sure I believe it myself, but there are some correlations. Right around the same time spawn were sighted during the War, we started to notice the appearance of fog around the Ur valley. Richard believes they've created this cloud as a protective measure, in response to our growing power. You know there have been rumors for many years that they can summon spawn to fight by their sides. If left unchecked, they could become a real threat."

"So you're convinced you need to follow through with it?" she asked.

He nodded. "If I lead the mission, then I'll be able to see for myself. If nothing else, it'll get Richard to trust me again. Maybe then I can speak with him on a more personal level, and stop him from putting his trust in Virgil Garvey. I don't believe for a moment that Virgil is acting in Angkor's best interests."

"Wait—you said that you will _lead_ the mission? Then others plan to come with you?"

Bram nodded. "Richard appointed a guide to lead me through the mountains. It's my old friend, Kane Harding."

"The same man you grew up with?"

Bram smiled. "Yeah, the very same. I haven't heard from him in nearly ten years, but I think we can trust him. We've been friends a long time, and between my skills as a Gnostic and his as a Templar, we should have no problem completing the mission and coming home safely."

Rosa looked at him pleadingly. "Is there any other way?"

Bram sighed. "I see no other choice. I'd like to avoid actual bloodshed, but I must see it through. Obviously, the sunstones contain an enormous amount of power, and if they fall into the wrong hands, we'll all be at great risk. As I said before, I don't think Virgil's acting in Angkor's best interests. I need to get closer to Richard to understand what I'm up against."

"Then let me to accompany you," she pleaded. "I can still cast white magic as well as ever."

"Rosa, I'm sorry, but it's impossible. No one can know that I've told you this—for your own safety!"

"But surely there's a way I can help. If not by your side, then at least allow me to research the sunstones. If Virgil found the answers, then perhaps I can figure out how."

Bram thought about the benefit of getting more information. Rosa was very resourceful, and he needed to give her more credit. "Just be careful, okay? If he finds out you're snooping, your life will be in danger. Remember that no one knows we've talked. The maid believes I intend to leave in anger. Keep up the act and no one will suspect. Servants' stories spread fast. If they believe you to be ignorant of the truth, then it'll protect you until I return. Also, don't speak to anyone you don't trust with your life. I don't know who else is involved."

Rosa made an additional point. "If Virgil learned how to unlock the sunstones' powers, the information must have come from somewhere. The Archives is a likely place to start. I know someone who can get me special access."

Bram scratched his head. "I don't see how you'd find anything of value in that old library. Plus, you'd risk alerting others to the fact that you're searching for something."

"The Archives is more than a mere library," she explained. "Some of the records date back almost a thousand years. In building its assets, wizards acquired texts that no one has read in generations—or even in tens of generations. I've nothing to lose by looking, and if I get special access, it will be during off hours. I promise to be careful."

Bram nodded. "I trust that you're capable, but please be discreet."

"I will, my love." She kissed him on the lips. Her warm caress filled him with ecstasy.

The plan had been set, steeled in their assurance that they could face whatever dangers fate would bring. Overcome in the heat of the moment, Rosa and Bram made love, feeling closer than they had since the War's end.

* * *

**End of Chapter 1**

_Thank you for reaching this point in my story!_

_It means a lot to me to hear from my readers,_

_So please leave a review_

_-Jeff Howard-_

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_._


	14. Chapter 2: Part I

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**Chapter 2: Journey to Ur**

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**Part I**

_Morning of Somnus, First Day of Autumnmoon_

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Over the last century, Angkor's capital grew from an inconspicuous stronghold by the sea, into the nation's most magnificent citadel. It stood as a symbol of influence and power, garnered through military conquest. King Richard's victory over Koba and Kitezh earned him the respect befitting a conqueror, and other kingdoms treaded more tactfully, fearful of becoming his next target.

The growth led to prosperity, but also corruption among Angkor's leaders and politicians. The War's aftermath gave them an opportunity to increase their wealth at the expense of their broken neighbors. Money lenders, landowners, and retired generals all hungered for power, their hearts filled with avarice. Richard bought their loyalty by feeding their desires, and built his empire using bricks of greed.

Fortunately, not all of Angkor's citizens had been tarnished by the corruption. Those living in the adjacent township of Niedam and surrounding settlements clung to a simpler standard, with a culture that endured since the country's earlier days. People still trusted one another, and left the political backstabbing to their wealthier brethren.

Niedam was still a relatively young and growing city, with paved streets and gardens, and houses made from brick and mortar. From Primoris to Diapente—the days of the week—store owners laid out their wares, and bakers used the smell of bread and pastries to lure prospective customers from their homes. On Terminus and Somnus—the weekend—farmers set up booths laden with vegetables and fresh produce, and fishermen displayed spreads of fish and prawns on large buffets, stretched out under towering pavilions.

Tradesmen filled the streets, hoping to earn a purse full of silver coins by the end of each day. Importers entered through the port on the south side of town, bearing jewelry and antiques. From the east, on the back of ox-pulled carts, Koban merchants brandished exotic wares that had recently spiked in demand, thanks to an excess of wealth flooding the city.

Farther west lived the peasantry. Among the gently rolling hills lived men and women content with their meager huts of wood or baked mud, nestled among high grass and wild berries. Modest temperatures and plentiful rain created an ideal environment for growing crops and raising livestock. Landowners, fattened and content with the country's prosperity, became lenient on the collection of taxes from their vassals, and passed on their good fortune to the farming communities.

One such settlement became aptly known as Providence. It consisted of two dozen huts set upon a grassy bluff, along with several hundred hectares of farmland. Most of the villagers harvested fruits and vegetables from the rich soil. During hard times, the community supported one another by pooling their resources, and ensuring that no family would ever go hungry. Few other villages boasted such altruism.

A dirt path extended through the village, westward to the nation's border with Vineta. It was on this path that Bram Morrison and Kane Harding marched toward Ur. Their first stop brought them to a familiar farmstead that, many years ago, Bram had once called home.

After passing a fork in the road and crossing a gently flowing brook, the two veered from the path and descended a steep hill. Beneath a great oak tree at the base stood a wooden shack with a series of stalls along the side. Inside the shack lived an old friend of Bram's parents, and the stalls contained mounts that he intended to purchase for the journey. People called them viscars, and they were a favorite among travelers.

Unlike horses, viscars had dark scaly skin, lizard-like maws, and long pointy ears that would perk up at the slightest of sounds. They used large and muscular hind legs for movement—making them swift and effective—but undersized forearms hung limply at their sides. Travelers appreciated their tame and pleasant disposition, and they lasted for days at a time without food. It made them ideal for traveling in desolate regions, like mountains or deserts. If a traveler could afford one, viscars made for easy and reliable transport.

Bram approached the front door, while Kane preferred to wait outdoors. He took a comfortable position beneath the oak, sitting atop a patch of grass and forming a pillow out of his hands and crisscrossed fingers.

Bram knocked, and shortly afterward a voice responded. "Just a minute …."

The knight waited patiently until a man ancient in years appeared at the door. He had coarse tufts of hair protruding from the sides of his head and wore a pair of thick spectacles. Around his eyes were decades' worth of creases from worry and hardship. "Oh, dear," he muttered. "We don't get many knights around here—no sir. I hope there's nothing the matter."

"Mister Oakley?" Bram asked hesitantly. "I don't know if you remember me, but I used to live here—up the hill and past the brook." He pointed to an empty knoll back and to his right.

The old man squinted for a moment, giving Bram a thorough inspection. "Yes—you're the young Morrison boy … my, haven't you grown!"

"It's nice to see you, too."

"I should say the same, Sir Knight—but please, call me Marcus—like you used to."

"Of course, and you may call me Bram."

"That's right—Bram … won't you please step inside?"

He took the farmer up on his offer, leaving Kane under the oak. The home was quaint, with a pleasant cedar smell. A small fireplace in the corner provided a comfortable warmth, while the charred log on top popped and crackled. Marcus looked over his shoulder while stoking the flame.

"So to what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked. "I haven't seen you since you left for the Academy, and that was more than a decade ago. I figured you'd stop by sooner or later, but I suppose you've been busy with your own life, now that you're a knight and all."

"The memories are painful," Bram admitted, feeling pangs of nostalgia, "but I regret not visiting."

Marcus brought a hand to his lips. "Oh, that's right, it was terrible! I offer my condolences for your parents, my dear boy. Their deaths were so tragic, especially given how very much loved they were by this community."

"Thank you. It feels different being back. I almost expected to find remnants of the attack, but things have obviously changed in ten years. The fields are overgrown, and it looks as if a farmhouse had never even been there."

"It's only natural to feel for such a loss," Marcus sympathized. "I don't claim I'd be any different. As for the rest of us, we didn't have a choice. We had to start over to survive. We all knew you had a better future, and we wished you the best."

Feeling pressed for time, Bram thought it best to move forward and leave the reminiscing for another time. Out of politeness to Marcus' kind words, he thanked the man—but then got quickly down to business.

"Well, Marcus, it's time I got moving. I'm journeying west, and I'll need to procure two of your mounts."

He took out his coin bag to gather the appropriate compensation when the farmer waved his hands. "No, no, no … I can't take your money. You should take what you need. It's the least I can do."

"I won't hear of it," Bram insisted. "You need this." He pressed five silver coins into the old man's hand.

"But it's far too much!" the farmer protested.

"Consider it a gift, then, for all you've done for me and my parents." Bram forced one of his signature smiles that he was famous for in his youth. He rarely showed the same face since his surrogate parents died, and even in the right moment, it took effort.

Marcus hesitated before accepting the gift. Five silvers represented a week's worth of work to the people of the western farmlands. At last, the old man took the coins, and with their transaction completed, Bram bid his farewells and met Kane outdoors.

"You should have joined us," Bram suggested. "Mister Oakley would have enjoyed seeing you, too."

Kane shook his head. "Things have changed. Besides, he probably wouldn't have recognized me."

Bram shrugged and threw his bags over his mount. Kane did the same, and both Gnostic and Templar climbed on their viscars and continued their trek westward.


	15. Chapter 2: Part II

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**Part II**

_Morning of Somnus, First Day of Autumnmoon_

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As Bram and Kane traveled across Angkor's countryside, Rosalyn Reynolds sought information that she hoped would offer insight into the incredible power of the sunstones. She began her search on the south side of Niedam, at a white house with green shutters and a pale yellow trim. It was right by the pier, close enough to hear the mellow crash of the surf and smell the salty sea air.

In the house lived Rosa's former school professor—the one who instructed her in basic healing while she trained as a white wizard. Though now retired from teaching and in his golden years, he spent his time as Head Librarian of the esteemed Angkorian Archives.

Jean Vieillechaise had a long white beard that grew over an aged and wrinkled face. He walked with a limp and carried a cane with the bust of an eagle as a handle. In spite of his enfeebled appearance, he was a formidable magic wielder—and none were foolhardy enough to challenge his skills. He still possessed a strikingly vivid memory and was able to recite passages from just about every book he had ever read, as well as detailed facts and trivia from a multitude of disciplines.

He spent the earlier part of his life in the country of Vineta, where he studied for years at a world-renowned school for advanced medicine and wizardry, known as the Nexus. As with many of his colleagues, he had a never-ending thirst for knowledge. After moving to Niedam, he performed volunteer work at the Archives, which involved menial jobs such as cataloging periodicals. After years of enduring humble chores that were far beneath his capabilities, the Librarian's Guild finally accepted him for full-time employment.

From there, he worked his way to the esteemed position of Head Librarian, a cushy job that suited him well in his elder years. On Somnus—the seventh day of the week—the Archives closed its doors, and he used his day off to enjoy another favored pastime: listening to the ocean waves while enjoying a fresh glass of chilled tea.

Visitors tended to have the impression that he was bothered by their presence—but not Rosa. She knew him before he joined the Librarians Guild, when he earned his living at a local school of white wizardry. Rosa had been his pupil, always a diligent student who followed up after school to ask questions about her lessons. He was happy to help, and provided additional tutelage at no cost.

In return for his kindness, she visited his seaside abode to help with housework, cook meals, and fetch supplies from the farmer's market. However, once the War had ended, she returned to civilian life and set her visits aside. She worried that Jean might think less of her for deprioritizing her studies, but it seemed she was mistaken. He met her at the door with a wide smile that warmed her heart.

"Rosa, my dear," he began in a voice that sounded like a breeze through the last of autumn's leaves, "I'm delighted to see you."

She returned the smile and embraced her fragile teacher. She felt somewhat guilty to have an ulterior motive, but it was part of her commitment to uncovering the truth behind the sunstones. "It's wonderful to see you too, Professor."

He offered her a chair, and once comfortable, she recounted her many adventures over the years. He lay on a couch against a down-feather pillow, with a face that glowed with contentment. She told of her war experiences with Bram Morrison, including their narrow escape through Klay's Canyon, and the skirmish with Kitezhian soldiers on Mount Abakai that awoke a tribe of mountain trolls.

She also told stories of civilian life, such as dining at the Belle Maison dinner theater and having the pleasure of meeting the actors after the show. She knew Jean well enough to tell the stories he would appreciate the most—and realized her intuition was correct every time she caught a twinkle of enthusiasm in his eyes.

When she finished, he asked if there was anything he could do for her, since she had so selflessly spent her morning keeping him company.

Rosa smiled, ready to breech the sensitive subject. "Actually, professor, I was hoping to seek a favor."

"Anything, my dear. You need only to ask."

She stood up and licked her lips nervously. "I have some crucially important research … and it's urgent that I do it discreetly. I was hoping to get access to the Archives before it reopens. If you could grant me your spare key, I promise to return it before morning."

Rosa did not refer to just any "key", but rather a magical one that would grant access through the Archives' enchanted doors. Powerful wizards had created these wards to protect the contents from falling into the wrong hands. Jean's own access was a magical imprint embedded in his body. All he needed to do was approach, and the Archives' doors would recognize his credentials and allow him inside. However, he held another mechanism for scribes who needed temporary access. It was in the shape of a talisman that Rosa could carry with her, and it would provide similar access.

Jean let out a nervous sigh. "Rosa, you should know that such a thing is forbidden after hours. There are strict rules. Some of the texts on the lower floors hold information that could pose a risk to national security."

"I understand, Professor—and I'm aware of the security protocols." She looked at his unyielding face, worried he might turn her down. "I would not assume this kind of responsibility unless it were absolutely necessary."

Jean frowned, his eyes apologetic. "I won't demand that you tell me the details, but I implore you to consider a sensible alternative. I've committed many of the items in the Archives to memory. Why not describe your research to me, and save yourself the trouble of committing a rather serious felony?"

"Because, Professor," she tried to explain at a moment's notice. She needed an appropriate excuse, without revealing too many details. "I have reason to believe there's a conspiracy at the highest ranks of King Richard's administration. There's a lot at stake, and it's to your benefit if I distance you from the details. I only ask that you trust me, and allow me to get to the bottom of it … _please_!"

Jean stared back at her, looking as if he were deeply considering. For a moment, she considered what she might do if he denied her access. Surely her story should have elicited a number of questions, but he simply stared back at her, his blank look making her uncomfortable. She held her breath, hoping her eyes would not portray her desperation.

He let out a deep sigh. "Very well, I'll grant you the key. However, it must be in my possession before the Archives reopen tomorrow morning."

Rosa's heart surged. She was grateful that Jean still trusted her with such a huge responsibility.

"And—" he continued, "You must be sure to leave everything exactly as you find it. Only Guild members can add or remove inventory, and they'll know if even a single volume has been misplaced!"

"Of course, Master Jean, I promise. They'll never know I was there!"

She beamed with appreciation and gave her favorite teacher another hug. Although she did not know where in the Archives to look, she had to start somewhere. Once it reopened the next morning, the palace would resume monitoring access, and someone like Virgil Garvey might find out that she was there. And if she missed her opportunity, the next chance would not be until the following week, which was far too late.

Of course, sneaking in as she had planned put her in a very different kind of risk—not just for herself, but also for Jean. If the Librarian's Guild ever found out that he had sanctioned unauthorized use, it would be disastrous for both of them. She had to ensure that no one discovered her plans.


	16. Chapter 2: Part III

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**Part III**

_High Sun on Somnus, First Day of Autumnmoon_

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The king's new airship demanded all of Cedric's attention. As Angkor's Grand Craftsman, he not only managed the program, but he was also the only man capable of advancing the design to the next stage. As such, it required every moment he could spare. Starting early in the mornings and often lasting past midnight, he sat in his office and compiled schematics until his mind swam with multifarious equations. As it neared high-sun on Somnus, he took a much needed break.

Standing up from his stool, he arched his back, stretching his cramped muscles. He removed his spectacles and rubbed the strain from his eyes. Most people on Somnus closed their shops and rested on that day, but Cedric's project was highly ambitious, requiring prolific amounts of overtime to meet King Richard's aggressive completion date.

The design was for a galleon-class airship, the largest of the fleet, requiring massive scale and resources. Only a couple of them had ever been commissioned, but Cedric's new model promised to make the previous ones obsolete. In fact, he considered it more than just an airship. He intended for it to be an airborne base of operations, which would accommodate the docking of other airships. He even coined the term _sky-base_ to describe it.

Previous galleon-class designs required hoards of wizards to offset the weight and maintain flight, but Cedric figured out how to reduce the overhead to zero using an extract known as manna—essentially, magical energy condensed in liquid form. Certain powerful wizards knew how to create it, but its purpose had always been intended for emergencies. Any wizard finding him or herself in a dangerous situation and unable to access their magic could instead draw upon their manna to cast additional spells.

Cedric's innovation was to use manna as a fuel source, in order to operate the various sections of the ship. It provided the necessary energy to power the engines, as well as a multitude of other useful control systems. In fact, the airship could maintain altitude indefinitely, provided that wizards periodically recharged the manna. He built the manna drive to store enough energy for weeks at a time, requiring not even a single wizard on board in between charges. He called the project "Zounds", an acronym that stood for Zero Overhead and Unlimited Navigations Defense System—and he wanted it to be his life's greatest achievement.

For years, the theories on how to use manna in this way were new and unproven—but a few recent breakthroughs made him confident he could overcome the limitations. When King Richard heard his proposal, he spared no expense. He gave Cedric all the budget and resources he required, including hundreds of Angkor's brightest manufacturing technicians and skilled laborers.

The project was only slightly behind schedule, with the limiting factor being a full schematic needed to move the program on to the next phase. It rested on Cedric to make faster progress, which he had intended to do that morning. However, the king's banquet left him tired and unfocused.

He had only bothered to attend because he expected Rosa to be there. He wanted to know where her heart had led her since their conversation. It had been an awkward meeting—and though he felt it contemptuous that Tom Reynolds would meddle in his daughter's affairs—he had to admit he had feelings for her.

He first met Rosa a year earlier at Angkor's Unification Day Centennial. She appeared to be covering up tears as she fled to an empty parlor. Being a gentleman, he intended to offer some kind words and see her on her way. The poor girl had gone to pieces over being stood up by her fiancée—a sad matter he had seen a hundred times before with other women. It did not take long before his subtle grace and charm helped her to calm down and speak more rationally.

When she did, he was surprised to find her unlike the many women in his past. She was honest—and forthright—and he found her candor refreshing. Most Angkorian noblewomen understood little outside of their tightly drawn bourgeois world, but Rosa was intelligent and informed on many subjects. She was also a veteran of the War, which meant she had faced unspeakable horrors. And yet, she was not afraid to weep openly, or to share her feelings with a stranger. To Cedric, she seemed like a prisoner trapped inside the high walls of Angkor's social elite—unable to take flight and sail away, in fulfillment of her own dreams.

He immediately took interest in her. Thinking it a good way to broaden her socially, he offered to introduce her to his friends at the palace. Initially she declined, choosing instead to walk home by herself and await the return of her lover.

Cedric was already familiar with Bram Morrison, having met the knight years earlier when he attained the rank of captain. The promotion had entitled him to command of the Heron, Cedric's favorite design. At first, he was reluctant to hand over his creation—especially to an unseasoned soldier who had attained rank at such a young age—but in spite of his reservations, Bram turned out to be trustworthy and responsible. He was spry and adventurous in his youth, full of hope and optimism that he might someday change the world. However, years of walking the path of a Gnostic had hardened his heart, and the horrors of war turned him cold and unrelenting. Unsurprisingly, it drove a wedge between him and his lover.

It took a few months before Rosa crossed paths with Cedric again. This time, she decided to take him up on his previous offer. As promised, he took her on a tour of the palace, where she mingled with a diverse crowd of foreign visitors and diplomats. He knew precisely which personalities she would find the most appealing, since he had similar interests. He knew from the glow in her face and the smile upon her lips that she needed more from her life than the snobbish and depressing nobility.

The surprising part came when Cedric was contacted by a man with a mustache named Andrews. Apparently, he was an employee of Rosa's father. He had the nerve to ask if Cedric had romantic feelings for her. Never mind if it were true, since the man had no business asking about it. Andrews explained that Tom desired a suitor for his daughter who treated her better than Sir Morrison, and he requested that Cedric follow his heart if it directed him in such a manner.

While it was true that he sensed a division between Rosa and Bram, he had no desire to be the man who came between them. He knew from prior experience that forcing such a romance would leave him with something hollow and superficial. In the end, he wanted Rosa to choose her own path. If she found no future with Bram and came to Cedric of her own accord, then he would gladly accept her.

At least, it seemed to be the right choice at the time. Later, after speaking with Bram at the king's banquet, Cedric had begun to have serious reservations. Some of his contacts inside the palace had informed him that Bram would be stepping down from his role as captain—and that it had been the result of some kind of insubordination. Cedric followed up on these rumors by confronting Bram directly. During their conversation, he detected a pattern of half-truths suggesting that Bram had in some way been demoted, and his new mission was some kind of penance.

This bothered Cedric a great deal. He wondered if he should advise Rosa to reconsider breaking her ties with her lover—but he struggled with how to broach such a delicate subject. After going through so much trouble to remind her of her love for Bram, would more meddling send her into a state of distress, and cause her to spurn both men? On the other hand, if he said nothing, would she not get hurt in large part by his omission?

The dilemma weighed on his mind. It robbed him of sleep, and delayed progress on his airship schematics. With so many thoughts clouding his attention, he failed to notice the inkwell until it was too late. His arm knocked it over accidentally, and he watched in horror as the ink oozed all over his mathematics logs—the ones needed to complete his airship schematics.

He shrieked a set of vulgar curses, knowing how long it took to generate the large multivariable force equations. It was days of work—_lost_! But then he recalled that his scribes had just finished their copies the previous evening. Since it was Somnus, they would have already delivered the paperwork to the Archives. Fortunately, his status as Grand Craftsman granted him access outside of regular hours. Rejoicing in this revelation, he did his best to clean up the ink-pool as he gathered his coat and scarf.

When he stepped outside, he was blinded by the sunlight. After blinking a few times, he was surprised to find the courtyard empty. From his office's location inside the Inner Sanctum, it was typical to see Templars pacing their guard routes and administrators in transit between meetings. It was a busy plaza in all but the oddest of hours—and at high-sun, it should have been bustling. Yet not a single person walked the streets.

It seemed strange, but he was too focused on getting back to work to pay it much heed. He strode quickly to a tall stone building that had once been used as a common library. Shortly after Angkor's unification, wizards expanded the structure as an athenaeum for their texts. When they ran out of space on the upper floors, they carved passages underground. As more of the continent made use of the repository, the passages tunneled deeper. It grew in popularity, and soon became an international hub of arcane information and historical record. The wizard community coined it the Archives of Angkor, and the name stuck.

Additionally, with the kind of security it warranted, it made a great place to store the kingdom's top secret documents. This included periodic copies of Cedric's work. The heavy bronze gates required a magical means for entry, but like other prominent members of Richard's administration, his credentials were magically embedded inside his body. Simply approaching the massive structure granted him access. The steel hinges groaned as the doors swung outward, allowing him to slip inside. As soon as his feet crossed the threshold, the heavy bronze gates closed behind him.

He paused again to let his eyes readjust to the dimly lit interior. He lifted a lantern from the wall and used it to get a better view of his surroundings. Like a library, the upper floors were open to the public during the days of the week. However, the lower floors contained the secrets of the nation's most powerful and knowledgeable wizards. A greater level of security was required the deeper one descended underground, and only a handful of the world's most powerful wizards had access to the lowest level.

Cedric had authority to access the first two sub-levels, the first of which contained the documents he sought. Passing his lantern over the stairwell, he took in a deep breath as he placed his hand upon the doorknob. He heard a loud thunk as the locking mechanism unlatched. He knew the door would not respond unless the person had access, but he still marveled at how the enchanted gateway recognized his credentials without him outwardly presenting a means of identification.

The lower floors reminded him of a tomb, filled with echoing silence. Motes of dust floated in the air, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Even the bookshelves seemed to bend from the decades of dead weight resting on top of them. For an instant, he imagined them falling on top of him, burying him alive under illimitable volumes, gasping for air, but only breathing in stale and dusty pages.

Shaking his head to clear away the foolish thought, he made his way forward. As he neared the stairwell to the next level, he heard faint signs of movement coming from below. It sounded like the shuffling of feet and pounding of heavy volumes upon wooden tables. It was not uncommon for Archives curators to perform various duties on closure days, but something felt different this time. None of the passages had been lit, suggesting the sounds came from someone who wanted their deeds kept secret. He considered the possibility of an intruder.

He looked more closely, and was surprised to find the door to the next level slightly ajar. His throat immediately went dry, constricted with anxiety. Though he found no evidence of forced entry, it was clear that someone had disabled the magical security. His better judgment told him he should return to the surface at once—but doing so would be an embarrassment if the noises came from something legitimate. In fact, if he were unfortunate enough to trigger a false alarm, the palace would likely consume hours of his time with questions, and he had no time for that kind of inconvenience. On the other hand, if an intruder lurked below, it was his duty to report it. If only he could peek inside the lower level and confirm his suspicions, it would save him considerable heartache.

He entered the stairwell, descending each step as quietly as he could. All he needed was a cursory glance, and then he would know for sure whether to alert security. He put one foot in front of the other, careful not to make a sound—until the door above him slammed shut! He nearly jumped out of his skin as he realized his only means of escape was now gone! He ran up the stairs, throwing his hands against the wood, hoping to burst through by sheer force of will. His lantern fell to the floor, snuffing the flame and bathing him in total darkness!

"Stop where you are!" a voice ordered from below.

He turned around to confront it, holding his arms in front as if to shield whichever attack might come his way.

"Cedric—is that you?"

He squinted against the bright light that illuminated from the base of the stairs.

"Rosa …?" He let out a sigh of relief and clutched his rapidly beating chest. The young woman stood at the base of the stairwell, looking stunning as always in her beautiful white dress. "Thank Gaia it's you—" It took a moment for the realization to come. "What are _you_ doing here?"

She paused for a moment, filling the stairwell with awkward silence. He tried not to imagine the worst. Was _she_ the intruder? Had she somehow infiltrated the Archives illegally? Why was she not saying anything?

"Come on down, Cedric," she offered, at last. "I've much to explain."


	17. Chapter 2: Part IV

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* * *

**Part IV**

_Afternoon of Somnus, First Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Rosa offered Cedric a stool so he could join her at the long wooden table near the foot of the stairs. On top lay dozens of old tomes—the accumulation of her research—spread out along with pages of hastily scrawled notes. Torches on the walls cast dancing shadows on the vellum pages, and the magical rocks known as luminess lay at the table's edges, providing an eerie blue ambiance.

She noted his pale complexion, and the waxy coating of perspiration along his face. She offered him her handkerchief, and he used it to wipe along his cheeks and forehead. "You gave me quite a fright," he admitted, "I thought you were an intruder."

Rosa laughed. "Come now, you think _I_ would infiltrate the Archives? You're joking with me, right?"

She hoped her casual response would lighten the mood, but Cedric did not take it so well. His voice was stiff and serious. "This place is supposed to be closed today. The last thing I expected was to hear the shuffling of feet and pounding of heavy volumes from the floor above. How was I supposed to know if you were here legitimately?"

Rosa lowered her head, feeling embarrassed. So much for remaining discreet. She tried to sound apologetic. "I'm sorry I frightened you, Cedric, but I _am_ here legitimately. I was granted access as a favor."

The craftsman let out a deep breath. "I'm relieved to hear that … but also a bit baffled. I came here to retrieve some documents for my airship design. My job grants me special access, but not many others can say the same. So I'm curious how you of all people happened to justify such a special privilege."

Rosa paused. She had hoped to avoid giving any details. "I'm conducting important research."

"I can see that," Cedric returned, gesturing to her accumulated paperwork, "but not just any research would grant a person permission to be here after hours, so you'd best have a good reason. Is this for Bram's benefit?"

She nodded, figuring it would do more harm to lie about it. It was better to explain her reasons in good faith, and hope that Cedric would understand and keep it in confidence. "I assume you heard about Bram's mission to Ur, based your connections?"

"Yes," he confirmed, "however, I'd not heard confirmation until last night—at the king's banquet. Is that why you came? To find out what King Richard has in store for Bram going forward?"

"No, I have little interest in Bram's latest mission," she said to clarify. "Rather, I need to learn more about the mission that preceded it."

Cedric grunted uneasily. "You mean the one that led to Bram's demotion."

She nodded.

Cedric shook his head. "My poor sweet girl … whatever Bram did, he brought it on himself, and should have to face the consequences on his own. You shouldn't be risking your own wellbeing, just to do his dirty work."

Rosa gasped. "That's an awful thing to say, Cedric. You mustn't think that Bram deserved to be demoted. He's a war hero, and one of the best knights in Richard's service. He's the victim in all this!"

Cedric crossed his arms. "Are you certain about that?"

She blinked, surprised to hear him question Bram's record. She had to provide more information, and at least give him the context that he was clearly missing. "First of all, I'm here of my own accord. I'll explain what happened on his mission to Minoa, and then you'll understand."

Cedric opened his mouth as if to argue, but then closed it. "Very well, let's hear it."

Rosa noted his raised brows and tone of voice, and realized he had already made up his mind, and was merely humoring her! She took a deep breath, hoping to convince him that he had it all wrong.

She described Bram's mission, and his confrontations with the king's chancellor, Virgil Garvey. She also explained the terribly violent methods that Virgil had used to obtain the sunstone. "He's a war criminal, and his conduct was despicable! But even after learning of his deeds, King Richard still supported him!"

"I see," Cedric said, his arms still crossed, wearing a smug look that said I-told-you-so. "So Bram challenged the king's judgment. That explains why he's been stripped of his command."

"No, Cedric—let me explain!" Rosa cried, indignantly. "Somehow, Virgil discovered how to unlock the sunstone's magic. _That's_ why Richard supports him. They are powerful artifacts, and pose a real danger in the wrong hands. That's why I've come to the Archives—to do my own research. Can you imagine what might happen, if Richard decided to take us back to war against Koba and Kitezh, in order to obtain _their_ sunstones—?"

"Rosa, mind what you say!" Cedric rebuked, his eyes bulging. "Some people in this kingdom would consider it treasonous to implicate our liege in such things!"

She held out her hands, trying to ameliorate his concerns. "This is just between us! I'm only telling you so that you'll realize how urgent it is that I find the truth!"

"I see …" he said, never taking his eyes off of her. He wore a look of utter skepticism. "But my dear—you must think it through. King Richard has never been anything but wise in his decisions. If what you say is true, then perhaps he was right to bring the sunstone into Angkor's protection. Perhaps the Minoans planned to use theirs against us."

Rosa shook her head. Cedric was far too trusting, and she needed to prove it to him. "I've done plenty of research in this matter already," she explained as she reached across the table to point to one of her open books. "Look here. It says the Gaian Priests have watched over the sunstone of Minoa for hundreds of years. They believe it to be a duty bestowed upon them by the Goddess, herself."

Cedric shrugged. "I don't see what the Gaian religion has to do with anything. It's been centuries since anyone around here worshipped the Goddess."

Rosa groaned inside. He was missing the point completely! "I'm merely pointing out that the Minoans—who still practice their faith—should also be bound by its dogma. This book tells us that they were _protecting_ the sunstone. They weren't dangerous, and yet Richard was willing to let them be murdered! That in itself is an act of war!"

Cedric sighed, clearly unimpressed by her air-tight logic. "Well, I have no way of knowing the king's reasons—but whatever they are, it's not for us to question. When you've lived here as long as I have, my dear, you'll learn that it's not worth challenging his authority. My recommendation is that you come with me to the palace at once. That way, I can speak on your behalf, and protect you from a stricter punishment."

Rosa's heart leapt into her throat. Had Cedric truly threatened to take her to the authorities? She started to panic.

"No, Cedric! I told you this in confidence! The palace can't know that I'm here!"

Cedric looked taken aback. "Rosa … I'm bound by my duties to report this, or else I'll be seen as complicit."

Rosa glared at him. If he followed through, it would ruin her plans, put Bram at risk, and potentially implicate Jean for lending her his key. She had to put a stop to it! "I fear I've done a dreadful job explaining this to you—but you must believe me that if you go to the palace with this, I'll be in danger!"

"That's preposterous," he sputtered. "I'll give you my word that no harm will come to you. It'll be a mere slap on the wrist, nothing more—"

Rosa shook her head firmly. "No. You've always been kind to me, so I'll tell you this plainly. I'm committed to my course. Go if you must, but I'll use my magic to escape at the first sign of Templars."

Cedric almost fell out of his seat. "You'd dare to run from the king's judgment? Have you lost your mind?"

"Don't test my convictions, Cedric. I'll forgive you for not understanding my reasons, but this research must get done. I won't stop you from leaving, but if you turn me in, I'll not yield without a fight!"

Cedric's jaw dropped. He looked dumbstruck. She hoped her words had left an impression.

In a complete reversal, he shifted in his seat, adjusted his vest, and sat with more composure. "Very well, you've made yourself quite clear. I won't speak a word of this, as long as you swear to me that you'll leave if you find nothing of interest—_and never speak of it again_!"

"Can I trust your word on this?"

"I swear," he promised.

His face portrayed concern, but his eyes held sincerity. She let out a sigh of relief. It was good enough. "Then I swear as well."

Cedric rose from his seat, smoothing the wrinkles out of his clothes. "I'll return to my workshop, and forget ever running into you. I just pray you take greater care—especially with how much noise you make. And if you can't find what you're looking for, then _let it go_."

Rosa nodded and offered him some luminess. "This should help you find your way out."

He took the stone and gave her a gentle pat on the arm. She was sorry it had come to such a fierce confrontation. He had always been so kind to her, not to mention that she had just recently come close to considering him a suitor. Sadly, his trust in his kingdom made him too closed-minded. She knew he meant well, and hoped she would not regret letting him go.


	18. Chapter 2: Part V

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* * *

**Part V**

_Afternoon of Somnus, First Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Carried on the backs of viscar mounts, Bram and Kane rode across the Angkorian countryside. They headed west, hours past the furthest settlement, the Mountains of Ur towering high above them to the north. In contrast to the fertile lands near the capital, the western regions turned rocky and dry. The grass along the sides was brown, scorched from the hot sun, and the viscars kicked up trails of dust as they traveled along the dirt road.

For much of the trip, the two rode in silence, but as time passed, Bram yearned for a conversation with his childhood friend. He had not spoken to Kane in nearly a decade, so he started to recount some of his experiences as a Gnostic Knight. He began with harrowing tales of his battles during the War, but things eventually turned blithe and humorous. One adventure involved leading his men into a Kitezhian controlled village at night, only to surprise the enemy at the local bordello. It pleased him to see Kane halt his viscar, too overcome with laughter to continue.

Feeling a bit hungry, Bram opened his traveling bag and removed some jerky and a hunk of cheese. Kane tossed him some bread from his sack, and Bram quickly returned the favor by splitting his items in half, and tossing one of the pieces back to his friend. Raising their hands in a mock toast, the two warriors ate in good spirits.

"Bram …" Kane garbled through a mouthful of sharply aged cheddar, "you remember the time the old Chevalier orchard was overrun by toza worms?"

"You bet I do," Bram recalled as he took a bite of smoke-cured meat. "When we heard about them, we snuck over the fence to get a better look. If I remember, we fell into one of the worms' tunnels after the ground caved in."

Kane laughed. "That's right! Farmer Sorensen gave us a beating when he found us. I'll never forget it."

"That reminds me of the day you fell beneath the ice on the old mill pond," Bram remembered. "We weren't supposed to go on it until after Solstice, but we never could resist the first snowfall."

"Yeah," Kane chuckled, "your old man had to fish me out with a garden hoe."

At the mention of his father, Bram's smile faded. It was not Kane's fault for bringing up a sensitive topic. He had left to train with the Templars, and the two had lost contact before Bram's parents had died.

"I'm sorry, Bram, I didn't mean—"

"No, it's all right," Bram responded. "Since you know about their deaths, I might as well tell you how it happened." He paused, trying to think of a good place to begin. "You remember the Kitezhian raids almost eight years ago?"

Kane nodded and waited for Bram to continue.

"They came from the mountains after dark, and set fire to the fringe villages. They wanted to incite panic and rebellion across the countryside. Many lost their homes, and even more lost their lives. The problem was that the villagers had no warning—but they should have! If they had even a simple patrol, the whole tragedy could have been avoided."

Kane's expression grew downcast. "I assume your foster parents were victims in the attack?"

Bram nodded, and had to pause again to compose himself. The memories brought back years of suppressed rage and frustration. "Back then, those within the walls of the capital had no care for the farmers to the west. I guess not much has changed—but at least now we have the Border Patrol."

Kane looked at him sympathetically.

Bram had not meant to dampen the mood, but he wanted to be open to his friend about his life—for better or for worse. "The fires burned them while they slept. I didn't even hear about it until after I had graduated from the Academy."

"I'm sorry, Bram." Kane offered a moment of silence. "So what happened afterward? You used to talk about traveling the world, and perhaps even finding your blood parents. Did you make any progress with that before becoming a knight?"

Bram shook his head. It was another sensitive topic. "A childhood fantasy, I'm afraid. My foster father refused to talk of my birth, even after I asked for details a thousand times. He only spoke of it once. He claimed to have heard me crying in the forest while hunting one morning. I was all alone—soiled and dirty—in a pile of wet leaves and twigs. He didn't have the heart to leave me, so he brought me home. I don't know if that was the truth, or just a story he told to placate a persistent boy. Either way, my blood parents were long gone. I had no way to track them down."

"So what did you do instead?" Kane asked.

Bram thought back. "Around the time I graduated, the War was in full swing, and the entire class was expected to enlist. I didn't have time to follow up on old dreams. I never even went back to Providence until this morning. Besides, the fires wiped out the entire farm, so I had nothing left to come back to in the first place."

Kane stayed silent a few moments, and Bram found it difficult to read his friend's emotions. He might have been trying to be respectful, or perhaps he was waiting for Bram to say more. Bram wondered if Kane might have his own hurtful stories to share.

"Well, you obviously did well as a soldier," Kane finally answered. "I was surprised to learn that you'd risen to the rank of Gnostic. How long did it take you, anyway?"

Bram thought about it a bit. "About three years."

Kane chuckled. "You make it sound so easy."

The response was unexpected, but Bram figured that Kane probably meant it to lighten the mood—so Bram laughed back, hoping it sounded genuine. "Yeah, I got lucky a few times," he said modestly. "I put some ideas to the test, and they worked in my favor. My commanders liked what they saw, and the rest is history."

Kane dropped his a smile. "You always were an overachiever, weren't you?"

Bram had a feeling his friend had not intended to give a compliment, and wondered if he had come across like a braggart. So he decided to tone down his accomplishments. "Yeah, but I worked my ass off, you know."

Kane seemed to crack a smile, but he said nothing.

Bram tried to change the topic. "Enough about me. What of your adventures, Kane?"

"Don't get your hopes up," he answered meekly. "Those in our order don't exactly live the excitement of a Gnostic, I'm afraid. Our days outside of service are filled with meditation and training. We don't socialize with outsiders, and we have strict rules on discipline and conduct."

Kane's description gave Bram chills. He opened his mouth to say something, but his friend cut him off. "I fought in the War, if that's what you wanted to know. During the final year, King Richard pushed forward with a new offensive. He wanted to take advantage of the weakening alliance between Koba and Kitezh, and risked some of his personal forces in an attempt to decimate the enemy's remaining land units."

"You're referring to the battle of Dobb's Plain." Bram remembered it well. "So you were there—"

"Yeah, I was there …" Kane trailed off, with an ominous tone that sounded like something in between anger and fear. His eyes drifted to the path in front of him, and he said nothing further. Bram let the awkward subject drop. The War was brutal, and many returned home scarred in different emotional ways. There would be ample time after the mission to catch up on old memories.

After another hour of riding, Kane halted his mount. "We're close to the underground passages that will lead us up the mountain," he announced. "We can move on, or if you need to, we can rest here for a bit."

"Let's move forward," Bram decided. "We'll rest when we reach Ur. Can the viscars make it through?"

"No," Kane answered. "The caves are a tight squeeze. We'll need to go on foot."

Bram nodded.

Just then, the sun made its way to the horizon, and the last rays of daylight blinded the two riders. Kane raised an arm to shield his face from the light, while Bram's helm served as a shield against the glare. With both hands free, he returned the remaining rations to his travel bag and basked in the last few moments on the viscar. He needed that time to prepare himself for the sacrifices his duty would soon demand of him.


	19. Chapter 2: Part VI

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* * *

**Part VI**

_After Midnight of Primoris, Second Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Cedric glanced at the grandfather clock in his workshop. It had just struck midnight with a series of reverberating bongs that marked the end of a brutally mundane day. Ever since returning from his meeting with Rosa, he had worked nonstop in a mad rush to complete his schematics, and catch up on lost time. As the hours passed, his concentration waned, and his thoughts wandered to Rosa's wellbeing. He was worried about her defensive—and somewhat frantic—behavior, and wondered what must have transpired between her and Bram to leave her so desperate for answers.

He accepted her claims about the sunstones. Perhaps they did have powers beyond his understanding—but even so, her theories on King Richard were positively foolish! Cedric had many years of experience working with his king, and the man would not dare start a war over something as silly as a sunstone. Rosa simply failed to understand Angkorian politics—and the same apparently applied to Bram, as well. Cedric had seen it happen many times. Angkor was no place for knights to suddenly find their conscience and question the king's motives. Sadly, Bram's future would likely include a lot more grunt work in the field, far from positions where he could infect others with his recalcitrance.

Rosa would come to understand this, in time. Cedric was willing to look the other way, and hope the authorities would not discover her unsanctioned access. If they did, he would not be able to protect her. But if she were savvy and avoided attention long enough to come to her senses, perhaps she would realize it made no sense to get caught up in Bram's downfall. Perhaps then, she would end all the foolishness, and in time, might even have need for a new suitor.

Cedric shook his head, wiping the thought from his mind. It was time to get some rest, and forget his own bloody foolishness. Fortunately, his schematics were finished. He looked at the completed paperwork, and was pleased with its style and elegance. He took pride in his work, and had a deep appreciation for the power behind his equations. By following his specifications, the work teams would be able to build the world's most sophisticated technological masterpiece.

He thought about delivering the paperwork that night, figuring it would not be too much trouble for him to walk down to the hangar. That way, his foreman would find it first thing in the morning. Otherwise, by the time the courier retrieved it from the lock box and brought it through security, it might not get delivered until later in the afternoon. Given the schedule pressure, he did not want to waste even a single precious hour. Though he was exhausted from a hard day's work, he felt a certain excitement toward seeing his design progress to the next phase. With the updated specifications, the teams could begin work right away!

Having decided on his course of action, he extinguished the flames of his office lamps, and from the table, grabbed the piece of luminess that Rosa had given him. She had meant it as nothing more than a simple way to light his path, but he treated it as a treasured keepsake. He rubbed its surface, turning it over in his hands. With a sigh, he placed it in the pocket of his overcoat, and gave it a fond tap. After locking the doors, he headed out to the courtyard and was on his way.

He headed to a building inside the city's Inner Sanctum, which led to a series of underground tunnels—Angkor's military complex, also known as the Substratum. The entrance was monitored at all hours of the day by the Templars, but Cedric had full authorization to enter. From there, he followed a passage to the center of the complex, where a large circular stairwell descended to the lower floors. It was a fair bit of exercise to walk the full length, but it was necessary, since the hangar was located at the bottom-most level.

The stairwell was well lit with a combination of lanterns and luminess, the latter of which helped to cut the cost and maintenance of replacing spent fuel, but failed to provide the same kind of light—especially around dark corners. Cedric preferred to carry a lantern, so he grabbed one of the extras from an alcove near the top level.

It took about twenty minutes to descend to the bottom. At the end, the stairwell emptied out into a huge cavern, which had been carved by wizards out of the natural shale and schist. Spread across the floor were dozens of airships—the majority of the king's fleet. It was wondrous to behold. The ceiling towered high above, obscured by darkness. However, once morning arrived, the space would be lit by a series of mirrors that brought down sunlight from the surface, through the same vertical tunnel that served as an ingress for the airships.

Near the front of the cavern was an office, which was where his foreman and the other design managers would soon go through Cedric's detailed specifications and dole out work instructions to the laborers. The office was already lit, so he snuffed the flame of his lantern to save fuel. He then placed his paperwork on the desk, where he was sure his foreman would find it.

Feeling sore from all the stairs, he stretched his arms and arched his back, rolling his neck from side to side to get out all the kinks. His knees were beginning to ache, too, and he did not look forward to the return trip. Even so, he let out a deep breath, satisfied that his design would have a fresh and early start. He sat down in a nearby chair, taking a moment to work the knots in the small of his back, when he heard a hollow noise echo throughout the cavern. Given the totality of the silence that preceded it, it could have been any minor thing—even a tool or piece of building material that fell atop the stone floor. But it took Cedric by surprise, and his heart lurched in his chest.

He bolted from his seat to get a better look. Outside the office, deep within the shroud of darkness, he saw the faint glow of a lantern travelling toward the back of the hangar. He wondered who would be lurking about at such an odd hour—besides himself, of course. His interest was piqued, because the back of the hangar was where his labor force constructed the Zounds prototype.

He furrowed his brows. If it was another of Richard's bean-counters trying to get his own assessment on the project's status, Cedric intended to share some cross words with him. He had had enough of the king's administrators trying to sneak in after-hours to manage the project from the sidelines. Then again, it would be foolish of him to scream objections from the opposite side of the cavern. If, instead, he could sneak across under cover of darkness, he might be able to catch the man in the act. Let him explain his way out of it then!

With his plan now set, Cedric left his lantern and paperwork behind, and followed the distant light source toward the Zounds prototype. It had been more than a week since he had seen it in person, and since then, the construction had grown rapidly. It was surrounded by an enormous scaffolding, the sheer scale of which was at least a dozen stories tall and three hundred spans in length, which made it longer than the width of the hangar's egress. It meant the only way to get the final product to the surface would be to lift it through the vertical tunnel with the bow facing upward. The logistics of constructing the massive design within an enclosed underground space was a feat in and of itself, but getting it to the surface required numerous tricks of magic and engineering.

Cedric approached his beloved project, and as he drew near, he caught sight of the man's face. He tried to recall the chap's name. He was a newly appointed member of the king's court, and Cedric recalled crossing paths with him a few times while walking the palace halls. The face was distinctive, with sharp features and slicked-back blond hair. He was a chancellor … and his name was Virgil Garvey.

Cedric's flesh broke out in goose-bumps, and a surge of adrenaline gave him a second wind. Rosa had implicated Virgil in the capture of the Minoan sunstone, and called him a war criminal for having murdered Gaian priests. While the accusations might all be true, Cedric was more interested in what he was doing near his Zounds prototype in the middle of the night!

So far, it seemed that Virgil had not seen him, so Cedric remained hidden in the shadows. He wanted to watch for a bit, to see if he could learn more about what the chancellor was doing. Virgil cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, as if checking to see that the hangar was empty. He slunk around the crates and scaffolding, looking like he was up to no good. Cedric kept his eyes focused on the light source as he followed a short distance behind.

Toward the aft of the ship, Virgil veered off to the side, behind a stack of crates containing new materials shipments. Cedric crept along the edge, trying to catch a glimpse. The area was almost pitch black, except for Virgil's own lantern. He did not want to stick his head around to confront the chancellor just yet, so he searched for another way to peer inside. Along the ground was a mound of dirt and broken glass—apparently a mess from earlier in the day that had never been cleaned up. Even so, one of the shards provided Cedric with a makeshift mirror. He picked it up, and standing against the corner of the crates, used it to get a view of the inside.

"It took you long enough," came a deep and august voice, one which certainly did not belong to Virgil.

Cedric turned the piece of glass in his hand, trying to get a good view of the speaker. Unfortunately, all he saw was Virgil's backside.

"I came as soon as I received your summons," Virgil responded. "You know I lack your skills in _translocation_. It took me forever to get here by foot."

The first voice chuckled. "Be that as it may, I'm sure you found the trip to be worth it. Look before you. I trust it meets your requirements?"

"Indeed," Virgil answered. "It's perfect!"

Cedric felt his blood pressure rise. If they were referring to Zounds, he would give them a harsh reminder that there were proper protocols to follow for anyone wanting a tour of the design. But before he could muster up the gall to confront them, the deep voice continued.

"I should also commend you on your work at cleaning up the mess left by Abraham Morrison. He and the Templar should reach Ur by morning. All remaining loose ends should be dealt with at that time."

Cedric held back from barging in. They had to be referring to Bram … but why? He swallowed to moisten the lump in his throat.

"Our plan is progressing nicely," Virgil responded. "Richard has taken right away to the Pisces Stone."

"Indeed. Its powers are worthy of its reputation. But are you certain no one else knows its secrets?"

Virgil took a deep breath. "I suspect Sir Morrison might have told his mistress about what he witnessed in the throne room. While their servants seem to believe the two left on unhappy terms, my other sources tell me she's been snooping around the Archives. To be safe, we should eliminate her."

"See that you do," the deep voice responded. "We can't afford to have her find anything."

Cedric froze. Now Rosa was involved! Sweat formed along his temples and rolled slowly down his beard. He took easy, deliberate breaths, using all his willpower to stop his teeth from chattering.

"Is that it?" asked the tall man.

"I'll update you soon on our next target. The Gemini Stone won't be as easy to obtain. Richard understands what he must do, but he wants more time before he announces a return to war with Kitezh. I've been pressing him, but he's looking for how to explain it to his subjects."

Just then, Virgil stepped aside, and the light of his lantern revealed the black armor and hideous helm of a Gnostic Knight. It was another of Richard's most loyal men, scheming behind his back!

Cedric felt his heart sink and his throat constrict. Rosa was right! Not only was his liege entrusting his administration to insidious conspirators, but now her life was potentially in danger! He had to warn her! Taking a nervous step backward, but failing to check the ground for debris, he stepped on another piece of broken glass.

"What was that?" the deep voice demanded. "Did you use your magic to protect our conversation from eavesdropping?"

"I thought you had already—"

Cedric did not wait around to hear any more. He ran, allowing his adrenaline to carry him through the hangar and up the innumerable steps of the Substratum's central stairwell.


	20. Chapter 2: Part VII

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* * *

**Part VII**

_After Midnight of Primoris, Second Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

By the end of the day, Rosa's pile of books grew until they covered the large, rectangular table from edge to edge. All of them contained references to the sunstones, but so far, none offered any real insights. The writing spoke of sunstones through fiction or lore, but the dearth of actual research made her wonder whether any reliable knowledge had survived through the ages. Surely Virgil had learned the sunstones' secrets from somewhere—but so far, the Archives offered no answers.

Throwing up her hands in frustration, she stood up to stretch her legs. Pacing the nearby corridors helped her to think. She needed to figure out what to do next. It was possible the information had been improperly categorized on one of the lower levels—but if that were the case, it would be like searching for diamonds the size of grains of sand, hidden along a beach. The Archives contained an incalculable number of records, and it would take a lifetime to go through them all. And yet, her time was running out. Only hours remained before she would need to clean up her mess and return the key to Jean.

Desperate and discouraged, she hung her head … that was when she saw it. Gleaming from the corner of her eye, she caught a sliver of light unexpectedly emanating from the bottom of a bookcase. She wondered if it was a hidden chamber—somewhere she had overlooked. She looked around for a hidden track, or some kind of mechanism that would allow her access behind the shelf. She ran her hands along the floor and walls on both sides of the corridor, searching for switches or levers, but found nothing.

A thought suddenly occurred to her. Closing her eyes and taking a step back, she raised her arms and summoned the magic inside of her. One-by-one, then row-by-row, she moved the books telekinetically from their places on the shelves. Each one hovered in mid-air, awaiting its next command. With the books all removed, she opened her eyes to admire her work. Nearly all of them floated in empty space except for one, which remained caught by a latch.

After returning the books to their proper places, she stepped forward to pull the one that had remained. A mechanism ground in the distance, and she watched as the shelf slid along a hidden track, exposing the room behind it. Joyously, she stepped inside, noting that someone had left a piece of luminess on a table in the room's corner. It had been the source of the light, and still held a dim bluish glow, indicating the charge was at most a couple of weeks old. At the far wall was another shelf, filled with books that she had not yet discovered.

Running her fingers along the bindings, she read the titles. Then, taking several in her arms, she returned to the long table in the previous room. She spread them out, reading them carefully and methodically. At last, she found what she had been searching for! These contained firsthand accounts—and not just by any author, but from one of significant repute.

His name was Maurice Vance, an historian and wizard famous even to first-year students. His theories were the basis of modern magic, but no one had seen or heard from him since his mysterious disappearance thirty years prior. It all happened before Rosa was born, but she was quite familiar with his work, as well as the scandal that followed. Before the military took over her school, she had considered basing her thesis on his theories.

Prior to vanishing, Vance had committed his research to discovering the secret of the sunstones. Many ridiculed this choice, due to a long history of wizards putting their reputations on the line for a set of relics that had never yielded any value. Undeterred, Vance took on the challenge, and put forth years of study, in spite of heavy criticism. He wrote about his work in a series of journals, but they too had unfortunately disappeared—at least, until now.

Rosa stared at the text with hungry eyes, reading through the words with fervor. Her hands trembled as she turned the pages, eager to discover the information she hoped would reveal how Virgil Garvey had unlocked the sunstones' powers. As she reached the end of the tome, she found with great disappointment that several of the pages had been torn out. They were taken straight from the binding, making it almost unnoticeable. She flipped back and forth in disbelief, unwilling to accept that she had come so close to finding the truth, only to end up with _nothing_!

Frustrated, she used her telekinetic power to push the journal to the floor. She hid her face in her hands, unsure of how to proceed. Her mind was numb from all the hours she had spent studying. In her tired state, she hardly noticed the sound of an approaching guest until she saw Cedric emerge from the mouth of the stairwell. With a start, she stood up and wiped the tears from her eyes.

Cedric ran into the room, out of breath and highly distressed. Using the table for support, he wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked at her apologetically.

"I'm so sorry I doubted you, Rosa," he wheezed in between heavy breaths.

"Cedric!" she gasped, unused to seeing him in such a disheveled state. "What happened?"

He struggled through heavy breaths as he explained. "As soon as I closed my workshop to head home for the night, I went to the hangar to drop off my paperwork. When I got there, I came across one of the king's chancellors … Virgil Garvey."

"Virgil?" Rosa's eyes opened wide. "So you _do_ know this man?"

"Yes," Cedric admitted, "but his name didn't mean much to me when you said it earlier. He's originally from one of the eastern provinces—a man of little importance. King Richard recently added him to his administrative staff, but the reasons have been fairly secretive."

"According to Bram, Richard intends to promote him to First Advisor."

"What? But, that's impossible! Surely it would be common knowledge around the palace by now if that were true. Don't you realize how crazy this sounds?"

"Yes, Cedric, but don't you see? Virgil discovered how to unlock the power of the sunstones. That's why Richard is willing to award him with the second most powerful position in Angkor. What did he say to you?"

"He didn't see me," Cedric clarified, "but I did catch a conversation between him and one of his accomplices. I eavesdropped while hidden off to the side."

Rosa smiled, somewhat surprised with Cedric, after all.

"The man who awaited him … it was another Gnostic."

She gasped. "Did you see who?"

Cedric shook his head. "His identity was hidden by his helm—but listen closely, Rosa. They know about Bram's mission to Ur. They also know that you're here, searching for information." Cedric paused, his face grim as he bit his lower lip. "I think you're in danger. You need to leave Angkor before you get hurt!"

Rosa shuddered. "I think you're right. This is a conspiracy, and I need to warn Bram before he reaches Ur. I can't allow him go through with his mission, knowing that these men are playing him for a fool. When I reach him, I'm sure he'll know what to do next."

"That's good, but there's more," Cedric added. "Virgil mentioned something … I think he called it the Gemini Stone. It had something to do with returning to war with Kitezh. You don't think they're referring to a sunstone, do you?"

Rosa tightened her lips. "I'm not familiar with that term, but if they're planning to steal Kitezh's sunstone, Bram and I will head there first to warn them. We can't let these artifacts to fall into the wrong hands. They're far too powerful!"

Cedric leaned forward. "Rosa … what did you find down here?"

"Not much, but thanks to what you've told me, I think it was enough."

Cedric beamed at the compliment, but before he could say any more, a commotion erupted from the upper floors.

"Oh, no! They've found us!" Rosa cried.

"It's my fault!" Cedric turned his head toward the stairs, his eyes filled with fear. "I wanted to warn you as soon as I could," he apologized, wearing his shame all over his face, "but I didn't check to see if I was followed."

Rosa gathered her courage. "Don't worry, Cedric. I'll make sure they don't find you. Just hide among the bookshelves, while I lead them away. They won't bother to search for you."

Cedric stood tall, his voice filled with resolve. "No, you can't risk being captured. You must make it to Bram before it's too late. I'll distract the guards and buy you time."

Rosa was filled with conflict. She simply could not let him take the fall for her.

"I'll be all right," he insisted. "Go now—make yourself invisible, and don't look back!"

Rosa had to decide quickly. The guards would arrive any moment. She had to hope that Cedric's clout with King Richard would be enough to protect him. She took a deep breath and kissed him on the cheek. "I won't forget this, Cedric."

"Find Bram and get to Kitezh. Now, hurry!"

She nodded and moved her arms in a wide arc, causing her to disappear from view. From the stairwell, armored Templars entered the room.

"Don't move," thundered the commanding officer at Cedric. "Where's the girl?"

"She was gone before I arrived," he told the man.

"Take him with us and search the floor," the officer commanded.

Three of the Templars surrounded Cedric and pressed their spears against his skin. It would only take a slight move for them to run him through. Rosa's heart ached as she snuck up the stairwell, leaving Cedric behind. She hoped the Templars would not treat him badly. More importantly, she hoped her magic would be enough for her to escape the capital alive.


	21. Chapter 2: Part VIII

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* * *

**Part VIII**

_Before Daybreak of Primoris, Second Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Bram and Kane spent all night ascending the Mountains of Ur via the underground cave network. Along the way, they ran into a number of spawn. Fortunately, they were common rabble, the kind frequently encountered in dark spaces. Chiroptera, cave larvae, millipods … none of them could match the enchanted sword of a Gnostic Knight, or a Templar's icy spear. The two warriors dispatched these nuisances easily, even while carrying torches in their other hands. The men still kept vigilant, however—heedful of their king's warning that stronger spawn lurked ahead.

As they ascended, the pathway became compact. Forward progress involved squeezing through gaps in the rock, and climbing up vertical passageways. Temperatures rose, creating a dense fog as heat mixed with cold humid air. Bram was intrigued by the unexpected occurrence, but it hampered forward progress. His torchlight was ineffective in penetrating the thick mist.

"How close do you think we are to the surface?" he asked.

"I feel a draft," Kane responded. "It must be coming from outside. We're getting close."

Their path led them to a wide open cavern. Stalagmites waxy with condensation populated the floor. Droplets of moisture fell from a high ceiling, which was obscured by fog. Bram caught the whistle of hot air passing through fissures in the rock, and along with the plink and plank of droplets falling into unseen pools of water, it created a kind of musical ambiance.

From one end of the cavern flowed a spring of boiling water—a sure sign of geothermal activity. Scholars claimed the presence of volcanos in the Ur mountain range, but they were supposed to have been dormant for hundreds of years. Bram had to be careful. He had no desire to risk any kind of instability while in tight spaces, under a hundred spans of rock.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Kane, King Richard believes the Conjurions created a magical fog around their mountains to defend against our growing power. But it seems more like a natural occurrence. Doesn't that seem odd to you?"

"I'm surprised to still hear you doubt," Kane responded. "Didn't you hear His Majesty assure us that the intelligence came from his top generals?"

"Of course I heard," Bram replied harshly. "But look around you—you think these springs and fissures are magical in nature? I'm only suggesting that we use some judgment. We can't assassinate a village chief based on bad intelligence!"

Kane glared at him. "It's not for us to decide," he rebuked.

Bram scoffed. His friend had never been so narrow in his thinking. The Order of the Templars might have trained their recruits to follow the king's will unquestioningly, but the man Bram used to know would have been greatly disturbed by this inconsistency.

"So that's it, huh?" he challenged. "You'd just move forward, blind to the consequences?"

Kane stopped and pointed a gauntleted hand at Bram's chest. "Listen to yourself. This is the kind of insubordination that landed you in this mess in the first place. Now you have a chance for your rank and command to be returned to you. You'd be a fool to squander it away."

Bram's voice darkened, and he swatted Kane's arm away from his chest. "Don't you _ever_ speak to me that way again! I'll not fail my orders, but I hardly expect King Richard to reward us, if he finds out later his generals were wrong, and we provoked our neighbor without just cause!" His eyes narrowed. "Or is there more to our mission that you're not telling me, Kane?"

His friend held his hands up defensively. "All right, Bram—I get it. You don't want to be jerked around, like you were at Minoa … but you can trust me. All I'm saying is, you should realize why Richard put you on this mission. It's because he's testing your loyalty."

"Is that so?" Bram posed with a hint of cynicism. "Why don't you explain to me what you know about this so-called test?"

Kane's face returned to looking cross. His brows slanted, and he scowled. "Think it through, Bram. You may think you've found a connection between the hot springs and the wall of fog—but it doesn't disprove the king's intelligence. We're not experts in this area, nor are we qualified to make such a conclusion. His Majesty placed his trust in us, and he expects us to perform our duties—_as assigned_. If you want to make things right and return to your command, you'd best put less effort toward questioning your orders, and more toward trusting your liege!"

Kane had a point, and yet … Bram suspected there was something his childhood friend was not telling him. No honest person would ask another man to trust him. Bram was certain that Kane was holding something back.

"Fine," Bram said curtly. He decided to keep his eyes and ears open, but for the time being, he had no more retorts. If it came down to removing a single tribal chief to make peace with Richard, then he would deliver the box and be done with it. Perhaps then, he would be in a position to understand all the secrecy.

Bram continued his search for the exit. Kane followed his lead, and neither spoke any more of their mission. After a few minutes of navigating through the forest of stalagmites, they found a passage leading further up the mountain. They marched forward.


	22. Chapter 2: Part IX

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* * *

**Part IX**

_Before Daybreak of Primoris, Second Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

By the time Rosa escaped the Archives, the entire Order of Templars was on her trail. She depleted nearly all her energy, just to get past their numerous barricades. It left her weak and out of breath, even before she reached the streets of Niedam. Had the palace been any faster in dispatching the wizards, she would have never made it. Her first instinct had been to head northwest to the Mountains of Ur, but she could not leave without warning Jean. She had to move quickly, though, or risk having the search parties catch up to her.

Initially, she employed spells of invisibility to aid her escape, but maintaining that kind of magic took too much effort. Instead, she ended the spell in favor of relying on her own clandestine movements and the city's dark corners. The cloudy night aided her cover.

She headed directly to Jean's abode, keeping close to the shadows and avoiding any passersby. She could not afford to have anyone identify her and point out her direction. Fortunately, the only people still outdoors amounted to a few drunken transients who laid curled up in an alleyway sleeping. No other sane man or woman dared to venture out at such an early hour.

As she ran, she said a silent prayer for Cedric, hoping for his safety. The Gaian religion may have in all practicality been wiped off the planet—but if the Goddess did exist, Rosa hoped she would hear her now.

She eventually reached her old professor's residence without incident. After taking a final glance over her shoulder to see that she was not followed, she risked a spell to lift herself over Jean's private gate. She knew that other wizards had the ability to detect nearby magic, and if she cast anything of sufficient power, it could alert the enemy of her location. Nevertheless, time worked against her, so she was willing to risk a relatively minor spell, if it meant reaching Jean faster.

She headed to the back door, which was closest to his sleeping quarters. After three successive knocks and several moments of eerie silence, she grew nervous. Moving her hands in a forward motion, she cast another spell to unlock the door. She announced her presence with a whisper. "Master Jean, are you home?"

As soon as she crossed the threshold into the dark interior, she felt the spectral chill of magic. Some wizards knew how to cast a spell known as an _anti-magic field_, which prevented another wizard from casting spells in their defense. A wizard of greater strength could resist the shield, but several wizards working in unison could overcome even the greatest among them from breaking free. For a moment, she thought Angkor's wizards had finally caught up to her. She tried vainly to struggle, only to see the lanterns in the room catch flame. They cast a calm and comforting light.

"Rosa, it's you! Thank the heavens!" She recognized the voice of her old professor, and felt the tingle and warmth of her magic return as he released his anti-magic field. She turned to face him, full of relief.

"Master Jean! Forgive me for entering without your permission, but something terrible has happened! I've come to warn you—"

The old schoolteacher raised his hands calmly. "It's all right, my dear. I too expected the enemy to have reached my gates. I'm grateful to see that you've made it here, first."

Rosa caught her breath. "But Professor, how did you know?"

Jean sighed and motioned for her to sit down. She sat in a wooden chair with a thin pillow on top, while he sat across from her in an old rocking chair beside a small round table. On top of the table were pages of an old text—and on top of these, Jean slowly drummed his fingertips.

"You didn't truly think the Archives would be without a mechanism for people like myself to monitor those inside, did you?" he asked.

Her cheeks became flushed. She should have realized that as head librarian, Jean would have certainly had a means to watch her remotely.

"I had hoped that someone would uncover the truth," he explained, "but I wished in my heart that it would not be you."

Rosa's eyes followed the movement of his fingers on top of the pages, mesmerized by the mechanized drumming.

"Your discovery may have cost you dearly, my poor girl. And I'm afraid I can't undo what's already been done."

Rosa shook her head, feeling confused and overwhelmed. "But Master Jean, I don't understand! I found Vance's lost journals, but all they contained was information I already knew, or at least would have supposed. The only thing missing amounted to—"

"A few missing pages at the back of the journal?" he finished her sentence.

She immediately understood, and wanted to reach for the pages under his fingertips.

"How did you get those?" she inquired.

"Have I not already explained?" he asked. "Only Guild members can add or remove inventory. Would you like to read what's written in these pages, my dear?"

"Yes, of course," she asserted, "but first I want to know what's going on. How did Virgil discover the power of the sunstones, when all others before him had failed? And how long have you known about it?"

"I'll tell you," Jean agreed with a deep breath, "but I must be brief, since we have very little time. The king's wizards will be here in minutes, and there's still much I must explain before you leave."

"Before _I_ leave? Master Jean, I can't let you face the king's wizards by yourself!"

"Rosa, I forbid you to debate me on this—at least, not this time. You've always been headstrong, and I'm certain your compassion is eager to get the better of you. However, right now there is knowledge that I _must_ pass on, and it will be up to you to carry it forward. I blame myself for not divulging it sooner … but I've known for a long time. Remember what I said? I'm familiar with every piece of text in the Archives. But sometimes, when you become an old man like me, you begin to doubt even that which you know in your heart is true."

Rosa latched onto his words. He claimed to have known the truth for a long time. "Master Jean—"

"I didn't believe the accounts in this text to be factual," he continued. "Not every book in the Archives should be taken literally, and not every wizard is correct in their research—not even one as great as Maurice Vance. But in this case, perhaps I _chose_ not to believe. Perhaps … I feared that if it were true … then it would be the end of the world as we know it."

Rosa was dumbfounded. The words were ominous and cryptic, all at the same time. What could he mean?

He shook his head in disgust. "So I passed it off, like a fool, until one day I caught a man reading the very same texts. In his earnest, he brought this newfound information to King Richard, who was quite eager to put it to the test."

Rosa finally put it all together. "You mean Virgil Garvey! He must have discovered Vance's journals, and took the knowledge of how to unlock the sunstones' powers to the king!"

"Yes," Jean acknowledged, "and as you'll soon find out, things of a much darker nature, still! At the time, I didn't think King Richard would have the appetite to gather these artifacts. Without his commitment, as well as the full might of Angkor's military, I doubted anything would ever come of it. Of course, I was wrong again. I underestimated the magnitude of his greed and ambition. Sure enough, he sent one of his own Gnostics to Minoa to seize their sunstone by force. This man, I believe, is none other than your lover, Abraham Morrison."

Rosa gasped. "And now that Richard has the Minoan sunstone, he'll be willing to go to war with Koba and Kitezh in order to get theirs!"

"Precisely," Jean agreed. "It made sense for Richard to target the Minoan sunstone, first. After all, there's not much political downside to invading an impoverished village on the other side of the Great Ocean. However, I fear that now that he's had a taste for its power, nothing will stop him from pursuing the others."

Rosa paused. "Even so, there's one thing I still don't understand. If Virgil used the insights from Vance's journals to convince King Richard to take action, how did _you_ end up with the pages?"

Her professor gave her a toothy grin. "I recovered them from the Archives, of course! Mister Garvey was the first to tear them from the bindings, but I presume he was unhappy to discover that he could not leave the Archives with them undetected. Instead, he transcribed a copy and left the originals. Fortunately, his error gave me a clear window into his schemes. Later on, I took the pages for myself, and using my Guild privileges, I removed them without the other librarians knowing."

Rosa was crushed to realize that Jean had held the pages the whole time. He could have saved her so much trouble, but instead she spent an entire day on meaningless research, put Cedric in danger, and wasted hours of time that she could have otherwise used to warn Bram about his mission!

She looked at her former school professor straight in the eyes. "Why … why didn't you tell me all this yesterday?"

Jean sighed. "I must accept the consequences of my decisions—but like I said, my poor girl—I'd hoped in my heart that _you_ would not discover these secrets. The burden it puts on you is immense! I wished to rely on another, instead."

The admission hurt even worse, causing Rosa's voice to falter. She could not believe that her beloved mentor would consider her unfit to handle the task. "Professor … I'm proficient in the Arts. Did you not believe that I was capable?"

Jean shook his head. "You misunderstand, Rosa. I believe in you more than you will _ever_ know. You are deeply gifted, and potentially capable of becoming one of the greatest wizards of all time …."

He trailed off for a moment, perhaps too overcome with emotion. "This is a task in which your life—nay, your _soul_—will be at constant risk. If I am guilty of anything, it's that I've cared _too much_ for you. I never wanted you to have to face this evil."

Rosa was at a loss. "I don't understand!"

"Then read these, my dear, so that you may fully understand."

Jean took the pages from beneath his fingers, and held them before her. She took the delicate text, and quickly read over Vance's entries. As she did so, her breathing stopped. Her hands trembled, and her eyes glazed over in fear.

"Now do you see how I came to dismiss these powerful revelations?" Jean challenged.

Rosa tried to work her voice, but she was visibly shaken. "Is there any doubt in your mind whether Vance's testimony is true?"

"None," her professor stated decisively.

Rosa let out a slow breath, too overwhelmed to say anything.

"Quickly, now!" Jean said to rouse her from her shock-filled daze. "Now that you know the truth, you know what you must do."

"Yes, professor! You can count on me." Her eyes filled with tears. She knew she would have to leave her cherished professor behind to face the king's judgment, just as she had done with Cedric. Her only solace was that she now understood the path ahead of her.

"I _know_ you can do this," Jean said, barely holding his own composure. "We'll see each other again. I'm sure of it!"

Rosa embraced her professor. She was angry it had to be this way, but Jean would not be fit enough to travel all the way to Kitezh. He would never survive the long march through the Saladina Desert, or the intense heat. Even the arduous trek up the mountains would be painful for a man his age.

"Hurry, now—the wizards will be here at any moment!"

"Yes, Professor," she promised, a stalwart conviction burning within her. However, as she turned to leave, a spectral presence blocked her path. It sapped her strength and eagerness and replaced them with fear.

"How touching …" said a voice that appeared suddenly from the opposite side of the room. "There won't be any wizards here tonight. I've called off the search, now that I've found you myself."

"Virgil!" Jean rose from his chair like a man thirty years younger. "You dare to set foot in my home?" The old wizard raised his arms to recast his anti-magic field, but Virgil brushed it aside like a gnat.

A wave of magical backlash hit Jean, nearly knocking him off his feet. But instead of getting thrown back, he rolled to the side and grabbed an object from the round table. It was a magical talisman in the shape of small stone figurine, which wizards used to amplify their powers. It emanated intense magical energy. Grasping it in his hand, Jean rose to his feet and cast a ray of raw magical energy in Virgil's direction.

The chancellor threw up his hands and uttered an incantation, sending the bolt upward through the ceiling, incinerating everything in its path. An explosion of broken wood and shattered glass sprayed debris all across the room.

Rosa shielded her face, but it did not stop a few splinters and shards from getting embedded in her forearms. Fortunately, the ray of magic did not hit the house's major structural beams. Aside from a gaping hole in the roof, the building remained standing. Once the dust settled, she looked to the far end of the room where Virgil stood, completely unharmed.

"So," he noted with a devilish smile, "it seems you have a magical aid of your own—but it will take more than that to stop _this_!"

The chancellor reached inside his cloak and grabbed onto something. With an outstretched forefinger, he cast a spell using magic that no one else on the planet could cast.

"Professor," Rosa mumbled with effort. "I can't … move."

Jean also seemed to struggle against this new form of magic. "What … manner of sorcery … do you wield?"

"Don't bother asking," Virgil retorted. "I'll be taking the girl, now."

"You … underestimate me … Mister Garvey!"

Jean seemed to flex his powers through sheer strength of will. His bony fingers extended, and his voice uttered the ancient words. In spite of Virgil's inexplicable powers, Jean cast a force that blew Rosa straight out of the room. She shot upwards, through the hole in the roof. As soon as she was outside—flying through the air—she felt Virgil's magic begin to wane. Thinking quickly, she cast a spell to slow her momentum before she crashed onto the ground.

After landing on her feet, she looked at her soiled white dress, which was covered with dust and broken glass. She also glanced over her shoulder at Jean's abode, where he had sacrificed himself so that she might escape. Wasting no more time, she ran down the streets as fast as she could.

She uttered the words for a spell, hoping to accelerate her escape, but was shocked to find her magic beyond her reach. She tensed with fear as an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion sapped the strength from her body. Virgil still pursued her with his magic, and she struggled to move forward. After a few steps, her legs gave out and she sank to her knees. She collapsed onto her side, and fell into a deep magical slumber.


	23. Chapter 2: Part X

**.**

* * *

**Part X**

_Morning of Primoris, Second Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

After hours of spelunking, Bram and Kane finally emerged into another large cavern. The fog was thick and the air was stifling, filled with humidity. Looking up at the top, Bram saw twirls of steam circling a spot of light.

"Look there," he pointed. "It's a vent to the surface. We must be close!"

Kane agreed, and they both fanned out in search of tunnels. Bram placed his torch on the ground to act as a reference point and used some luminess from his travel bag as markers. He walked along the perimeter, examining the walls for erosion. Air escaping to the outside often left patterns of wear on the rock, and he hoped to follow them to the exit. As he inspected the stone, he caught sight of movement along his periphery. He turned around, expecting to see Kane by his side.

"Kane?" he called out.

No answer.

Turning to his other side, he saw the fog part and swirl, as if something had passed through. He drew his sword and returned cautiously to the torch.

"Kane!" he cried out, louder this time.

Kane appeared out of the mist. "What is it?" he asked.

"We're not alone," Bram cautioned. "I've seen movement through the fog. It's subtle, but there's something alive in here."

Kane readied his spear and stood with his back against Bram's. Bram picked up the torch with his free hand, and both men made their way to the center of the cavern.

"I see it, too," Kane pointed to an area in front of him. "It doesn't look like a creature under cover of mist, but rather like the _mist itself_ is moving."

A disembodied voice echoed throughout the cavern. It was lithe and whispery, as if from the mouth of a snake. _"Dark warriors, begone from these mountains … or invite my wrath."_

"Show yourself, demon!" Kane challenged. "We'll not back down from mere voices."

"_You dare challenge me?"_ the voice beckoned.

"We intend to move forward," Bram called out to the darkness. "Allow us to pass, or face us outright!"

"_Foolish humans … you have sealed your fate._"

Bram and Kane remained huddled back to back, their weapons poised.

In an instant, the fog coalesced into a set of sharp fangs. It lunged for Bram, who fell to the side, parrying with his sword. Kane dodged in the opposite direction, just in time to avoid the beast's head. Towering high above them was a creature that was both serpent and mist. It seemed to will itself in and out of existence, sometimes corporeal, sometimes ethereal. The torchlight gave it a menacing, orange glow.

"Distract the creature," Kane whispered to Bram as he ran into the darkness. "I'll only need a few moments …."

Bram shimmied to the side again, just in time to avoid another of the serpent's attacks. It was quick and wasted no time readying itself for another lunge. Bram took a few steps back, hoping to distract the creature long enough for Kane to execute whatever plan he had in mind. The serpent dove forward, faster than Bram expected. He could not carry out the move he had in mind, but he still managed to roll out of the way of the beast's fangs.

When he was back on his feet, he realized that he was stuck in an awkward position, close to the rear of the cavern. Now cornered, he changed tactics, advancing forward with his sword raised. The serpent approached head-on with opened jaws, exposing itself at last. With a quick sideways motion, Bram lowered his sword and sliced at the beast's snout. The beast-mist curled around his blade, and drops of blood hit the ground. Bram was relieved to know his weapon could injure it.

He readied himself for a second attack, but before he dealt another blow, the serpent dematerialized. His sword passed right through empty fog. Fearing an attack from behind, he returned to where he had dropped the torch. The flame sputtered. If it went out, he would have no light except for the dim luminess, which would put him at a serious disadvantage.

He turned from side to side, trying to anticipate where the serpent would reappear. He cringed suddenly, as an ear-piercing screech akin to blades skating on ice penetrated the cavern. He spun around, only to find waves of frigid sleet raining down upon him, stinging his flesh and freezing the joints of his armor into place. He tried to run, but his arms and legs were locked stiff.

Unable to maintain his balance, he fell to the ground, rolling onto his back as the head of the serpent glared down at him. "_Arrogant human_," it spat, as it dove forward with sharp white fangs.

There was no way to escape. Bram raised his gauntleted arm in a feeble attempt to block the attack. He closed his eyes, fearing death—but instead he heard a loud thud. His eyes opened to see the serpent's lifeless head, only a couple of spans away. Its neck was broken, and Kane's spear hung out the side.

With an outstretched hand, Kane helped Bram to his feet.

"That was a close one, my friend," the Templar announced with a modest smile. He explained how he had climbed to the top of a nearby rock, and from his position upon the precipice, jumped down using an ancient Templar technique. With his enchanted spear pointed downward, he drove it right through the creature's neck, severing whatever served as the beast's spinal cord.

Bram was impressed, though he wore a wry grin. "What took you so long?" He could not help but chuckle.

Kane looked back with a wide smile as he retrieved his spear. He then helped Bram to the edge of a hot spring, which helped to thaw the frosted joints of his armor. As the ice melted, so did the tension he felt from Kane's earlier remarks. He and his friend made a great team, and he owed the man his life. One way or another, they had to stick together.

After a moment's rest, they proceeded toward the exit.


	24. Chapter 2: Part XI

**.**

* * *

**Part XI**

_Morning of Primoris, Second Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Somewhat groggily, Rosa awoke to find herself on the back of a viscar. As she came to her senses, she saw a barren and mountainous landscape. An icy breeze chilled her to the core, but she could not move her body. Through partially opened eyelids, she noted three others riding ahead of her, each on their own reptilian mounts. Two of them were standard Angkorian grunts, but the other she recognized as Virgil Garvey. He rode in silence to her right, with his left hand curiously grasping an object inside his cloak. Rosa tried to recall what had happened. The last thing she remembered was fleeing from Jean's abode.

Master Jean! The memories came flooding back. If Virgil had done anything to hurt her cherished professor, she would make him pay! With effort, she repressed her hatred and frustration so that she could focus on her surroundings. She needed to plan her escape while her captors were still oblivious to her reawakening.

She recognized the Mountains of Ur to the West, which meant that she was likely crossing the Zeugma Pass, a natural trail that formed eons ago when two mountain ranges fused together via the shifting of continents. Her captors must have brought her with them, perhaps as collateral to force Bram to do their bidding.

Icy needles of harsh mountain wind pierced her skin and chilled her bones. Her body was under the influence of Virgil's magic, so there was little she could do to huddle for warmth. No solace remained, except for the scaly yet warm-blooded body of the viscar pressed against her scantily clad legs. Virgil must have slit her dress to force her to ride in a forward manner. She was infuriated to think of what else he might have done to her while she was unconscious.

Virgil looked over his shoulder in her direction, as if sensing her resentment.

"It appears Miss Reynolds is finally awake," he announced.

There was no point in hiding it. Rosa lashed out, somewhat surprised that she could speak at all, given the rest of her paralysis. "How _dare_ you treat me like this? Tell me what you've done to Master Jean!"

"My, my—aren't we demanding?" Virgil tisked. The bastard knew full well he had the upper hand!

"Please, just tell me you didn't kill him," she pleaded.

Virgil stared at her with a face that was devoid of emotion—colder than even the icy mountain air. "How fascinating," he observed, "one moment you threaten me, and in the next you become submissive. My sources told me you might be a manipulative little witch, and it seems they were right once again."

Rosa's mood darkened, and her hatred grew.

"You see?" he asked with a smile. "When I don't give you what you want, you return to loathing me again."

She looked away, unwilling to play into his games.

"You think I killed him, don't you?" the chancellor questioned.

"Didn't you?" she tried to hold back her tears.

"What do I look like—a monster?" Virgil responded innocently. "Despite what you might think, I don't take pleasure out of hurting people." His lips turned upward into a devilish grin. "I just make sure they don't get in my way."

Rosa no longer cared to hear what he had to say. He was a sick man, laughing in the distance as tears streamed from her own eyes. How could anyone take pleasure in such cruelty? She needed to think of a way to escape before she became his next victim.

She rode, deep in thought, trying to think of a way out. Meanwhile, the temperature plummeted, and piercing winds numbed her arms and legs through her thin white dress and blouse. She worried about frostbite, but ignored the pain. Years ago, she spent a winter in the northern plains of Koba, where she learned to take her mind off the cold. She tried to put herself in the same state of mind, while keeping her body pressed close to her mount, siphoning as much warmth as possible from the viscar's gentle incalescence.

She tried to look for weaknesses in the magical force that paralyzed her body. Even the most experienced wizards had faults that could be exploited, given enough time and knowledge. Rosa had both of these, and had Virgil employed white or black magic, she would have found something. But no matter how hard she tried, she failed to break through his unique kind of wizardry.

She understood white and black magic to be forces of nature. Scholars throughout recorded history have studied their origin, but none had ever succeeded in putting together a unified theory. In spite of that, wizards could still train to master them. The ability to wield magic varied from person to person, but for those who had the gift, it offered the equivalent of a sixth sense. Rosa used to explain it to her novices as a mix of all the senses. It tickled the skin, hummed in the ears, appeared like a glow, and danced on the tongue. It encompassed the essence of life itself. With the right patience and meditation, a person could attain fearsome powers.

As forces, Black and White stood opposite from one another. Wizards could sense both, but could only master one of them. Those who tended to be in tune with nature and who studied the mind made excellent whites. Black wizards, on the other hand, tended to focus on strength and power. The affinity of one over the other depended on the person's passion and personality.

One of Rosa's introductory classes demonstrated this to its students by asking each of them to attempt a spell from the opposite Art. Rosa discovered—as many novices do—that she could not control the power of black magic. Her spells of flame were nothing more than tiny puffs of smoke, while her incantations of frost appeared as sprays of water vapor. Other students had similar experiences. The force closest to a particular wizard would always overpower the other. Still, she knew how to detect black magic, and part of her Art was to master how to overcome it. But in spite of all her knowledge and experience, Virgil's unknown force might as well have come from another world. She needed to know how he got his power!

"Stop struggling," the vile man chided. "You have no hope of freeing yourself."

She blocked out his voice, shutting him out of her mind, and setting her concentration on how to escape. Looking around, she saw a blackbird flying overhead. She recalled a spell that did not require any movement from her body, so she uttered it. The blackbird flew to a nearby rock and repeated the words she had given it.

Virgil looked at her crossly, clearly not expecting her to cast anything. While keeping his left arm still inside his cloak, he outstretched his right forefinger and vaporized the bird with a single word of power.

"Wretched girl!" he cursed. "I should have cut out your wicked tongue while I had the chance!"

His threats meant little. He had inadvertently revealed a limitation in his magic. The word of power he used to destroy the blackbird was black magic. Even though he still touched the object in his pocket directly, the unknown magic was limited to only a single target. As long as he kept Rosa under his spell, he would be limited in what else he could do.

The advantage worked in her favor. She had added a slight modification to her spell, which made it attractive to nearby animals. Sure enough, a second blackbird answered her call, followed by several more. Chirps and whistles came from behind rocks and under bushes, all joining together in song. In moments, the air was filled with a swarm of birds.

Virgil was furious. He shot shards of lightning from his fingertips in a feeble attempt to end the onslaught. The two soldiers, having no desire to be struck by his magic, took cover to the side of the path. It was clearly not enough, and with a curse, the chancellor dismounted and climbed a nearby rock. As he moved away, Rosa felt the grip on her body weaken. It was nothing more than a tingle, but it was enough for her to flex her muscles. If only she could regain control of her limbs.

The blackbirds numbered in the thousands, creating a cacophony of caws and wing flaps. The sound was deafening, and the sky was filled with black-winged chaos. Virgil removed his left hand from his cloak in order to use both hands to cast a barrage of fire and lightning at the targets. Seared lumps of flesh and feathers rained down upon the mountain path, creating a sickening smell of charcoal and emulsified fats.

Now that Virgil's hand no longer touched the object in his cloak, Rosa refocused her efforts on reclaiming her body. Sure enough, her theories proved correct. The paralytic magic had weakened considerably. It was her only chance to escape, and she took it.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on words of magic, opening her mind to its sweet taste and gentle tingle. The power that she was born to command flowed through her veins. She whispered the words again and again, filled with the will to live and fight. She spoke them solidly, with resolve to warn the world and thwart Angkor's evil plans. Again she repeated the mantra, slowly feeling control return to her body. She was overjoyed to find that she could finally move her arms and legs. And at that moment, she realized that the sounds of the blackbirds had stopped.

Opening her eyes, she tried to get her bearings. It was not Virgil's fire or lightning that had suppressed the chaos. The birds had fled of their own accord. Rather, it was the creature flying high above them—a beast so massive that the Angkorian soldiers shrank back in terror. Inadvertently, her incantation had summoned a corvusaur, quite possibly the largest she had ever seen. Saliva dripped from its maw, no doubt considering those before it a much anticipated meal. Even Virgil backed away from his position on the rock. The viscars stirred, growing uneasy.

Rosa summoned her courage and took her one and only chance to flee. After inhaling as much air as possible, she spurred her mount forward, hanging on with all her might. The corvusaur did not react fast enough to stop her mount from running directly underneath it.

"After her!" Virgil screamed. "We must have her before the Gnostic finishes his mission."

Rosa smiled. So her capture _was _related to Bram after all! It explained why Virgil had bothered to keep her alive. She had to reach him before it was too late!

She reared the viscar again, increasing its speed, and distancing herself from her captors. The path curved along the face of the mountain, leading right to the edge of a cliff! She tried to maintain her velocity, even as the trail became increasingly difficult. The corvusaur was gaining on her, its burning eyes focused on its prey.

She looked to the side, hoping to find refuge in the form of a cave or passageway in between the rocks—anything that would take her off the precarious and ever-thinning pathway. She leaned quickly to the side, just in time to take a sharp corner. Any less, and she would have tumbled off the edge. She used magic to keep the viscar stabilized. Unfortunately, the route continued to grow thinner and more treacherous.

She had no choice but to slow her mount. Fortunately, it appeared the corvusaur no longer pursued her. She looked over her shoulder to confirm, hoping her luck had finally changed. If she could only reach the northern face of the mountain, it would be close to the Saladina desert. There would be places to hide, areas to collect her thoughts.

It was then she noticed—in the distance—her path had reached its end. There was nowhere left to go, except for down a rocky and unstable ravine. She pulled back on her reins. She had no choice but to turn around. But when she tried, she came to face the giant spawn. The corvusaur must have followed from below, out of sight, but still able to track her. It rose from the side of the cliff, cutting off her only escape. She had nowhere else left to turn. The corvusaur opened its wings to attack.

The last thing she remembered before she fell off the cliff, was the sharp, poisoned barbs as they pierced through her flesh. She mumbled the words of a spell as she fell ….


	25. Chapter 2: Part XII

**.**

* * *

**Part XII**

_Morning of Primoris, Second Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Bram emerged from the cave of fog into a valley filled with lush and verdant greenery. By some kind of natural miracle, the warm humid air from the underground heat source provided an environment for the flora to thrive, even at the higher mountain elevations. He stared in wonder at the tropical paradise filled with hanging vines, opulent flowers, and abundant vegetation. Looking down, he saw a soft and spongy moss blanket the ground, while above him he saw a thick imponderable fog hide the treetops.

He and Kane followed a path through the jungle with weapons drawn. Along the way, they noticed the twitching of branches and rustling of leaves as birds and fauna moved along their periphery. Snakes slithered across their path, and webs hung across trees with kitten-sized spiders waiting patiently in the center. Small and furry wildlife jumped between the foliage, only to be swallowed by unseen predators.

"Unbelievable," Bram remarked, feeling awe-struck. "I've heard the stories, but I never imagined it would be like _this_."

"You can see how secluded this place is," Kane explained. "It's clear that the tribesmen have isolated themselves from the rest of the continent. It's no wonder they've grown so hostile."

Bram stared at his friend in confusion. "I don't know why they would. This is a paradise. I can't imagine anyone here would want to be disturbed, much less provoke an attack."

"They've seen our expansion since the end of the War," Kane argued. "Ur is our nearest neighbor, and they're reacting to our success. Just be ready."

Bram failed to picture a village filled with envious onlookers as he took in the majestic landscape. He and Kane marched along the path until they came across a gently flowing stream. Bram tasted the water and found it clean and refreshing. Further downstream, the jungle opened to an outcropping overlooking a vast clearing. In its center was a primitive village, built from tents and wooden structures. The stream's water flowed in a cascading arc down to a pristine pool at the base.

With their bodies pressed against the ground, they peered over the edge of a precipice to get a view of the villagers. They were fair-skinned men and women, each with white flowing hair—traits that seemed to be the result of generations living in indirect sunlight. Bram brought his hand to his own argent colored strands, wondering if he might share a common ancestry. However, his hair had more volume and bulk, and his skin tone was not as pale.

He watched the tribesmen as they went about their daily lives. Some carried jugs filled with water collected from the stream. Others tanned hides of jungle animals to be used for clothes or housing. Bram saw children playing in the water, smiling and ignorant of the two warriors in hiding above them.

The sight burned in his mind as he thought about his mission, and what he had been sent to do. His stomach clenched, and bile rose in his throat. He backed away from the rock ledge, feeling nauseous.

"Bram, what's wrong?" Kane asked.

The knight clutched his pounding head. "I'm fine," he growled.

"No, you're not," the Templar insisted. "Tell me what's bothering you."

"Don't you see?" Bram snarled between clenched teeth. "There are children down there! We can't go through with this—"

"Pull yourself together, Bram!" Kane hissed back, scowling. "We have a job to do!"

Bram shook his head. "No, this mission is twisted and wrong!" Something toiled inside his gut—a feeling of guilt and anxiety that festered like an inflamed sore. "The villagers down there are innocent. They've done nothing to us!"

Kane stared him down. "You're forgetting your duty."

Anger and frustration bore at Bram's insides, burning and aching at the pit of his stomach. "This isn't a battlefield, damn it! And those aren't enemy soldiers down there! They're _children_, for Gaia's sake!"

Bram removed the box from his pack, the one with which he was tasked to assassinate the village chief. "Have you thought what might happen if this were to cause harm to others around it?" he challenged. "How could you live with yourself if innocents died because of us?"

Kane sat back, seemingly at a loss for words. He scoffed under his breath. "He said you'd be defiant—"

"What?" Bram demanded, hearing what Kane had meant to keep to himself. "Who said this? King Richard?"

"Never mind that—listen to me! You're being given a second chance. It's a simple task, and you won't even need to get your hands dirty! Just find the chief and _open the box_!"

Bram rose to his feet and, like a tiger, pounced on Kane. He caught the Templar off guard, and the two went rolling into the stream. Bram ended up on top, and with his gauntleted elbow, firmly pinned his friend to the mud. Kane opened his eyes wide in disbelief, as cold running water washed over his head.

"What are you not telling me?" the Gnostic Knight demanded, shaking his friend with all his fury. The festering rage in his gut was ready to burst. "I swear … if you've been colluding behind my back—"

Kane's words gurgled in between gasps of air. "Let … me … _go_!"

Bram loosened his grip enough for Kane to roll out of his grasp. On all fours, The Templar coughed several times. "Bloody fool!" he spat, spraying tiny droplets in Bram's face. He looked angry and hurt. "What in Gaia's name has gotten into you?"

"I want the truth!" Bram pleaded, leaning back into the running water. The coldness cooled his anger, but only for a moment.

"Isn't it enough that I explain it all later, when we complete the mission?"

"No! You'll tell me now," Bram demanded. "This mission makes no sense, and you know it!"

Kane scowled and turned away from Bram's gaze, but Bram pressed on. He stared Kane down until his friend relented.

"Fine, I'll tell you …."

Bram braced for the truth, but before Kane uttered a word, the box twitched violently. Bram rolled around to grab it, but the metal was so hot it nearly burned his hand through his metal gauntlet. He pulled away, cursing. Smoke poured from its seams.

Kane's eyes went wide in alarm. He pushed Bram to the side with renewed might. "The box!" he exclaimed. "It's not supposed to activate, yet!"

"What in the Burning Pits is this thing, Kane?"

Without responding, the Templar grabbed the box with his bare hand, grinding his teeth in pain. His flesh sizzled and a pungent odor filled the air. With all his might, he threw the box over the precipice to the village below. Bram watched, dumbfounded. Even before the box hit the ground, Kane doused his injured hand in the stream's running water. Thin tendrils of red washed downstream. By the time he removed it, it was swollen and blistered.

Baffled by what he beheld, Bram scrambled to the ledge to see what had become of the box. He never made it very far, before Kane tackled him to the ground. "Stay down, you fool!" Bram barely heard the warning through the blood that pumped in his ears.

From his prone position, he had a clear view of the box as it lay on a bed of grass at the edge of the village. It wrenched and heaved, and the top opened wide. An unholy reddish glow emanated from it. Villagers stopped and stared, curious at the strange occurrence. The reddish light expanded, setting the nearby brush ablaze. The tribesmen grabbed their children and ran for help. Men in woolen robes arrived from a nearby tent, apparently trained wizards. Moving their arms in the intricate art of magic, they sent spells of ice to chill the spreading conflagration.

At first, they calmed the raging blaze, but their spell-casting was interrupted when the box emitted a supernatural shriek that echoed throughout the valley. The men and women held their ears as dark fluid oozed from the box's opening. It gathered along the ground, and coalesced into serpent-like creatures with rough black skin and flames coming from their eyes and nose. They were among the most repugnant spawn that Bram had ever seen. The Conjurions ran at the sight of them, but the box kept on forming more. The creatures slithered into the village, setting fire to anything they touched.

It was pandemonium, and Bram was the fool responsible. He had brought the spawn to Ur—not the other way around. Whatever powers the sunstones held, they were evil to the core, and the man he trusted most had lied to him the whole time! The mission was a farce, and though he should have known better, Kane had convinced him otherwise. The pustule of red hot anger lingering in his gut finally burst, spreading septic levels of rage and fury throughout his body. He was filled with such hurt and sadness that he wanted to scream it for all the world to hear.

An explosion caught his attention. He forced himself to his feet, wanting to join and help the villagers, but Kane grabbed him by the arm. He tried to break free, but the Templar held him tightly.

"No, Bram—look!" Kane pointed with his red and blistered hand.

Bram turned his head to the skyline, where a string of bluish lights appeared. They circled overhead in what appeared to be a magical portal in the sky. Bram shrank back from the ledge as a new breed of creature jumped out.

"Dear Goddess … the legends are true!" The words died on his lips as he saw with his own eyes. The creatures coming from the portal were not spawn. They were from the old tales that had been told as a child. He remembered being mesmerized by the fables of legendary creatures that traveled from their hidden dimension to fight on the side of man.

From the ledge overlooking the burning village, he recognized Charis the Graceful Mistress. She looked almost human, but was several times larger, with blue-colored skin. From her wand came spells that froze the demon spawn in solid blocks of ice. Akhana the Thoughtful Soul was of similar size, with a white beard that ran the length of his body. Stag antlers jutted from his forehead, and he held a mighty staff that called down lightning from the heavens. Finally, Sige the Silent Protector with his long eel-like body and rainbow-colored scales, flew through the air with a massive maw large enough to swallow the spawn whole. The creatures fought valiantly, but the spawn outnumbered them, and the box continued to produce more with each passing moment.

Bram had brought a plague that was quickly destroying everything in its path. Kane might have brought him to the valley, but he had let it happen. It was his fault! The houses of the village burned, along with the people inside. A horrible lump formed in his throat as he imagined the farmhouse where his foster parents lived in Providence, the moment when the Kitezhian raiders set it on fire. He heard their screams, and he reached his breaking point. He turned to the Templar with eyes that were filled with fiery vengeance. And yet, the man wore a sickeningly triumphant smile.

"You son of a bitch!" Bram spat, anger churning and boiling deep inside of him. "You knew all along, didn't you? This was never about killing a village chief, but of destroying the entire village—wasn't it!"

The Templar faced him defiantly. "It pained me to lie to you, but my orders were absolute. They wanted to gain your loyalty. Killing the chief was the easy part, but accepting the loss of the entire village was supposed to seal your commitment."

Bram no longer heard Kane's voice. The blood beat behind his ears, and filled his vision with a red haze. What happened to the humanity? Had the world gone mad! "This is what the King of Angkor does with his new-found power? Find villages filled with innocents to use in a trust exercise?" It made no sense. _Nothing made sense_!

"Of course there was more to it," Kane responded. "The Conjurions had the power to defy us. They had to be stopped either way. It was just luck that we had this problem, and at the same time, Richard was looking for a way to give you a second chance."

This explanation filled Bram with such profound disgust that he no longer recognized the man standing before him. He seemed no different from the spawn that burned the villagers alive in their homes. He put his hand on his sword, and deliberately unsheathed it.

"You would turn your sword on me?" Kane yelled with eyes filled with horror and shock. "I'm not your enemy!"

Bram said nothing. He was determined to put an end to it. Waves of darkness emanated from his sword, as his own enmity synergized with the blade's magical enchantments. It throbbed beneath his grip.

"Wait!" Kane told him, his arms raised defensively. "If not for me, you'd be dead already. I'm the reason you're still alive!"

Bram looked at Kane through bloodshot eyes. "Why I should listen to your _lies_ any longer?"

His friend stepped forward confidently, despite the poisoned blade nearly grazing his throat. "Because _you_ were meant to take the fall along with this village," he stated bluntly, gesturing to the mayhem below. "Those were my orders, if you chose to defy me. But, see? I've disobeyed so that you may live. I did it to protect you!"

"Who do you serve?" Bram demanded.

Kane's swallowed nervously, but then his face turned back to the stoic facade of a Templar. "King Richard, of course."

Bram's blood boiled. "Lies! Everything you've said so far is a _lie!_ Who gave you the orders to torch this village? Was it Virgil?"

"It doesn't matter. What's done is done." Kane's scowl disappeared, and in its place was a sickly smile. "Put your sword away, and we'll return with more riches and power than you could possibly imagine. Our king will proclaim us heroes."

Bram was awestruck, unable to respond. The bowls of his gut burned with anger hotter than the fires of the burning village. The man he had known since childhood was unrecognizable.

"You're a murderer. To think you've made peace with the deaths of so many innocents is reprehensible enough—but don't you _ever _think of yourself as a hero!"

"You take that back, Bram! I've risked my life in service for our country just as much as you—and I'd risk my honor so that yours may be returned to you!"

"Are you blind? Look what you've done!" He pointed to the villagers, who ran around burning and screaming. "We've taken their lives in return for _nothing_! You look into your heart, and tell me you don't recognize this madness!"

"I'm not mad, I assure you," Kane replied, his words cold and calculating. "You've just lost perspective." He pointed towards the portals in the sky. "Look there, at the monsters of legend. Would you not feel differently, if these so-called _peaceful_ villagers turned their creatures upon our homeland? What if Akhana's lightning charred the bones of _our_ loved ones? What if the mighty jaws of Sige swallowed _our_ children?"

The creatures still circled the skyline, trying in vain to halt the impending destruction. Slowly, the spawn from the box overwhelmed them.

The Templar continued, his voice like ice, "Who's to say how these savages will react to our growing power, if left unchecked? Would you be absolved of guilt, if they made the first move? Would it pacify your conscience, if we were motivated by vengeance rather than precaution?"

Bram looked back on Kane with revulsion. It was senseless to argue. Every moment he spent with the lunatic made it less likely he would find survivors. He spat in the Templar's direction, and headed toward the village to either help or die trying.

"Don't you turn your back on me, Bram!" he heard Kane scream as he ran in the opposite direction. He ignored the words, as well as the threats that followed. Crossing the side of the embankment, he jumped to a nearby ledge and used a tree branch to slow his descent. On his way down, he noticed that many of the spawn from the box had already fallen to the might of the summoned creatures. Even so, as many as were defeated, the box simply produced more.

As he entered the ruined village, he drew his sword cautiously. Along the ground lay charred remains of women and children whose lives had been tragically cut short. It made him sick, but he tried to force his body to block the nausea long enough to search for survivors.

He saw the dead through blurred vision. He ran, dodging flames and corpses, until he could go no further. Burdened by the weight of his actions and no longer able to control his body, he collapsed. Turning to the side, he disgorged all that had boiled inside him.

The vomiting sapped his strength, but he forced himself alert. As his vision cleared, he caught sight of a spawn coming from the side of a flaming hut. Replacing his sickness with rage, he rose from the ground and plunged his sword into the creature's backside before it had time to react. The magical blade rent cleanly through and out its chest, spilling greasy ichor onto the ground. The moss and grass below wilted the moment the substance touched down. Before Bram had a chance to yank his sword free, the corpse turned to ash and scattered in the wind. He was pleased to see it. This way he would know for sure they were dead!

Four more spawn came at him, but he directed his anger at cutting them down. He thrust his weapon against their scaly hides, dismembering heads and limbs with his fury. It left him reinvigorated, and he pushed onward, hoping to find even a single man or woman to save.

Near the center of the village, he heard a small whimpering over the many roars of flames. Following the sound to its source, he came upon a large and ornate pavilion with totems on the sides and fur skins along the front. It must have been the chief's hut. Flames slowly consumed the structure, but lying on the ground only several spans away was the body of a middle-aged woman. On top of the body, weeping, was a child no older than a toddler.

Bram sheathed his sword and removed his skull-shaped helm to appear less intimidating. "Young one," he coaxed, "is this your mother?"

The child looked up, her face red with grief, and cheeks streaming with tears. "My mommy lost contact with her aeon and stopped breathing." She choked out, in between sobs.

Bram bent down to check for a pulse, but found nothing. The body was unmarked by wounds or burns, but the child's words caught his attention. "What do you mean by _aeon_, child?"

She did not seem to understand, so he tried what he hoped was a more appropriate question.

"What did your mother's 'aeon' look like?"

"Mommy's aeon was the Ouroborus—the snake made of dew-fog." Her words flowed in between the tears. "But there was fire … and everyone left me alone." She started crying uncontrollably. "I … want my … mommy."

The story broke Bram's heart, but it helped him to recall more about the old legends. The aeons were the creatures that came from the portals in the sky. The serpent of mist that he and Kane had fought in the cave must have also been an aeon. He remembered what the Ouroborus had said. It had given him an opportunity to turn back, and only attacked when he challenged it.

When Kane killed the aeon, it apparently severed the link between it and the Conjurion who summoned it. It must have been the child's mother, which was how she had died. Realizing this, Bram bent down and placed a hand on the child's shoulder. "Don't be afraid, young one. Your mother needs you to leave the village with me right away."

He took her by the hand, but was halted when a voice came from behind him.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Bram."

Bram spun around to the man who had betrayed him. He instinctively placed himself before the girl.

"Move aside!" the Templar snarled.

"You wouldn't _dare_, Kane!" he growled through clenched teeth. "She's just a child, and you'd be murdering her in cold blood! Is that what our country's citizens need protection from—a _little girl_?"

"You have no idea what that savage is capable of, do you?"

"The Goddess curse you!"

"If you're having an attack of conscience, Bram, then leave it to me to finish this. I'll spare your life if you leave now and _never_ show your face in Angkor again. But I swear—if you stand in my way, I'll cut you down _myself_!"

"Damn you, Kane—I won't let you harm her! You and Richard can rot in the ground. I'll never follow his orders again!"

"Those are the words of a traitor, punishable by death. Do you intend to stand by them?"

"I won't back down!"

Kane looked down at his spear, his face contorted with indecision. After a short pause, his visage returned to the disciplined calm of a warrior about to enter battle. "So be it," he uttered, his spear raised.

Bram donned his helm and drew his sword. He faced the man he had known since childhood, knowing he would not be able to leave the valley with Kane still alive. Shouting a war cry that filled him with as much pain as it did bloodlust, he ran forward with his blade poised to strike. Kane pivoted and swung his polearm, and the two weapons met with a torrent of magical energy. The sound was deafening, like a thunderclap. Earth and rock flew upwards from the backlash, and both warriors were flung to opposite sides.

Nearby, the little girl screamed in fear, and a golden aura of magic surrounded her. Her voice echoed above the treetops, beyond the roar of the fires or clash of magical weapons. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as an eerie silence descended upon the village. Magic permeated the air, and Bram felt his flesh break out in goose-bumps.

Above him, a magical gateway appeared, filling the entire skyline above the burning village. Out of the portal came an aeon of such magnitude that it dwarfed all others before it. A single red hand appeared, large enough to pick up a tree as if it were a toothpick. Bram inched backward, paralyzed in shock and disbelief. He watched as the creature's colossal arms extended out from the portal, each capable of moving mountains. Finally, the gargantuan head and torso emerged, filling the mountain valley with its prodigious girth. Bram recognized this creature of legend, but nothing prepared him for the extraordinary might of a _titan_.

As it stepped out of the gateway, its incomprehensible weight landed into the valley below. As soon as it touched down, a fearsome tremor shook the ground, and a gaping chasm split the basin in two. Bram and Kane dove out of the way of a widening trench that appeared right beside them, each ending up on opposite sides.

"This is not over!" the Templar threatened, but as the chasm widened, he lost any chance of jumping to the same side.

Bram ignored the threat and searched for the little girl. He saw her unconscious body lying on the ground. She appeared to have lost her footing and hit her head against a rock. He hoped she would not have a concussion.

Grabbing her in his arms, he raced away before the fissure grew any larger. Though the child weighed little, he was already exhausted, and even his enchanted armor did little to make it easier. He strained every muscle and tendon to save himself and his lone survivor.

Looking up, he watched the titan grab hold of the spawn and crush them in its massive hands. They left trails of ashes that drifted away in the wind. At the same time, bubbling magma spilled forth from the chasm the giant had created. The tremors ruptured through the mountain's geothermal core, causing molten rock to rise to the surface. In minutes, the valley's delicate ecosystem would be completely destroyed.

Focusing all his energy, Bram ran toward higher ground. As he did so, the valley shook, boulders fell from the hillocks, and lava oozed from every opening. His only chance was to head toward the Zeugma Pass, a league or two to the east. He looked to the young girl in his arms, vowing to get her to safety.

After twenty minutes of running, he reached the base of the trail. Behind him, huge veins of smoke curled upwards toward the sky. He looked to the former jungle paradise, now utterly obliterated.

It was a pitiful loss, a thing of great beauty that could never again be replaced—and all because of a man obsessed with greed and power. But one thing King Richard had not calculated was that his most loyal Gnostic would have the sense to question the madness, and not even a trained Templar would have the power to stop him.

He looked once more at the titan, who had climbed the adjacent peaks to avoid the flames below. Meanwhile, the young child slept soundly in his arms, the only survivor from an entire race of Conjurions. The aeon returned to the starry portal, but before it left, it gazed once more in Bram's direction. His heart stood still for a moment, but relaxed as soon as the titan entered the portal and disappeared.

Unabated, he continued his march along the mountain path until the sight of the ruined valley was far behind him.


	26. Chapter 2: Part XIII

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**Part XIII**

_High Sun on Primoris, Second Day of Autumnmoon_

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"Sir, we've found the runaway viscar," the Angkorian soldier reported to his commander.

Virgil Garvey followed the man to a mangled corpse that lay crumpled on the ground. Several corvusaur barbs stuck out of its side, but the cause of death had been from a broken neck.

"Any sign of the girl?" he asked.

"No, sir," replied the soldier. "She must have fallen into the ravine below."

Virgil walked to the cliff's edge and looked down. It was deep, and the bottom was obscured by rock. Looking to the West, he saw plumes of smoke and a red sky. The Mountains of Ur were on fire.

"Forget about her," Virgil told him. "If she's not dead yet, she will be in a day or two. The Templar has completed his mission and the Gnostic is dead. We'll no longer need her for leverage. Head back to base."

The two soldiers pulled on their reins and turned southward. Virgil climbed on his own viscar, ready to report the day's events to his Master.

* * *

**End of Chapter 2**

_Thank you for reaching this point in my story!_

_It means a lot to me to hear from my readers,_

_So please leave a review_

_-Jeff Howard-_

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	27. Chapter 3: Part I

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**Chapter 3: Across the Saladina Desert**

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**Part I**

_Morning of Denuo, Third Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

It took Bram most of the morning to reach the Zeugma Pass, and finally leave the burning valley of Ur behind him. Sapped of strength, he sank to his knees in a patch of tall grass ten spans off the main path. He slowly set down the unconscious child, and used his sword to cut a clump of grass to use as a make-shift pillow. As he placed her head gently on top, he marveled at how peaceful she looked.

She was the sole survivor of a slaughter on her village, forced to endure watching her family and loved ones burn all around her. It was a horror Bram knew too well, since his parents had died in a similar way. They had been simple people, hard workers, and strict in their upbringing—but they cared for him. He prospered through their love and nurturing, but never had the chance to tell them how much he loved them in return. It was a miserable burden he carried for years—long kept repressed under a cold and emotionless façade. Yet now, the deep well of sadness began to surface, filling him with overwhelming regret.

He wondered if the child, seemingly lost in the peaceful world of dreams, would feel the same forlornness. And if not right away, would it come back to haunt her later in life? She had been brutally robbed of the opportunity to grow up as a normal child. As he looked at her in the midst of tranquil slumber, a deep compassion welled in his heart.

It was strange to feel such pity—perhaps even ironic. He had met many orphans during the War, and by his own hand, had orphaned many a child. But for this one in particular, he felt a connection … a bond.

Before, during the cruel multi-year war that ravaged the Northern Continent, he had been trained to differentiate between kinsman and foreigner, ally and enemy. His indoctrination as a Gnostic had dulled his emotions and warped his perspective. He cut down the enemy without a shred of doubt or remorse. War was ruthless, and he needed to be as well—but no longer.

Now, disillusioned by his kingdom's warmongering, by the sickening loyalty demanded by his king, and by his best friend's heart-wrenching betrayal, Bram was determined to wipe away the years of conditioning. He finally saw clearly the defenseless girl laying before him on a soft mat of grass. She had lost everything she had ever known, stolen for no reason but for the selfish purposes of a mad king. Although long overdue, Bram allowed himself to open his heart to a victim of his own careless deeds. He vowed, from then on, he would do things differently. He made a promise to himself to protect her from further harm.

Weary from his frightful flight and with a new oath now sworn, the soft grass beckoned. He let out a deep breath, and allowed his head to sink to the ground. He stared upward as particles of soot and ash drifted above him. They were the fleeting hopes and dreams of the dead—precious lives extinguished, heartfelt desires scattered, hopeful promises never to be fulfilled. Together, they formed a filmy haze to obscure the mountain's usually clear blue sky. His body grew numb, and exhaustion pulled his mind toward slumber. His eyelids fell, casting a veil over the passing curls of smoke.

He blinked, desperately trying to force his eyelids open, to maintain alertness, to press onward. But there would be no fighting the impending sleep. His eyes rolled back, taking the world away, and he drifted into a sea of dark serenity.

_The world in between awareness and sleep was an ocean of nothingness. No pathways or markers to guide him, just blackness without end. Walking nearby, alone, he saw a small boy—something from a distant memory. The child was lost in a daze, wandering without purpose, searching for answers …._

_"Bram!" shouted a voice from behind. "Hurry up!"_

_The boy looked over his shoulder and saw a grassy field that looked very familiar. He looked at his clothes, and saw that he wore the make-believe accoutrements of an Angkorian soldier. In his right hand was a wooden sword, and in his left the lid of a cooking pot._

_Another boy ran toward him. It was his childhood friend, Kane Harding._

_"I'm gonna find a real big one!"_

_"A big what?" came a child-like voice from Bram's lips._

_"Ogre—remember?" Kane shook his head while rolling his eyes. "We were gonna kill one and bring home its head. Then we'll be heroes!"_

_Bram smiled. With woes buried deep inside his subconscious, he indulged in the simplicity of childhood. His furies and frustrations were replaced with boyhood fantasies that filled his heart with euphoric delight. "Let's be wizards, Kane," he said with excitement. "I want to throw fireballs and blow them up!"_

_Though the juvenile innocence appealed to Bram's wounded psyche, he was still vaguely aware of the painful experiences outside of his dream. He did not want to face them, so his subconscious brought him to relive the fondness of memories long forgotten._

_"We played 'wizards' last week," Kane told him. "Now I'm squad commander, and you're my lieutenant."_

_"Awwe—can't we play 'soldiers' next time? I want to pick the adventure." The preadolescent Bram pouted. Kane was older by a couple of years, which granted him the privilege of creating the rules during make-believe time. He took advantage of this authority most of the time, but when Bram put on his pathetic look, Kane's face began to soften._

_"Oh all right, crybaby. We'll be wizards." Holding his wooden stick in the air, he announced the new rules. "Instead of swords, these will be our casting staves."_

_Bram's frown faded, and the twinkle returned to his eyes. Kane winked back, and with a smile he asked, "So, you have to be a black wizard."_

_"No, I wanna be a White!"_

_"Dummy," the older boy sighed, "white wizards can't cast fireballs."_

_"Then how 'bout I be a gray wizard—"_

_"What? There ain't no such thing!"_

_"Yeah there is—my papa said so! He says they can cast both white and black magics. Says he met one while in Vineta one time."_

_"Nuh-uh," Kane shot back, "he's just telling you stories."_

_"Well, I wanna be one anyways—"_

_"Fine—I'll be a black wizard, but since you know white magic, you have to be my backup while I lead the mission."_

_"Yay!"_

_Bram realized that he had been duped to follow Kane's rules, but it did not matter. Kane made him feel better—that was the important part. He was the only real friend Bram had ever had. The boys held a brotherly kinship, and Kane promised he would protect him and console him when his parents were not enough. But as with many things, this too would change with time …._

Bram watched as the darkness returned. The grassy field melted away, replaced by a shadowy lagoon under the wrath of a ravenous storm. Bram felt his innocence wrenched from him, and another scene materialized.

_"Hey, buddy, wake up!" Kane prodded, now a teenager. Bram must have dozed off while waiting for his friend to arrive. He swung on an old rope and tire swing by the mill pond, where they used to meet after school._

_"What? What is it?" Bram sputtered, jarred by Kane's prodding. "Oh, it's you." His voice was much sadder this time. A great shame welled up inside of him._

_" 'Oh, it's you,' …" Kane mocked, mimicking Bram's downcast tone. "What's gotten into you today?"_

_Bram wanted to tell him, but it made him feel like a wimp. He could not bring himself to say it out loud._

_Kane gave him a light punch on the shoulder. "Look—I just came by to hang with you, but maybe I'll just leave you to 'hang' by yourself."_

_The poorly placed pun was probably meant to lighten Bram's spirits, but it just wasn't enough. His lips curled slightly upward, but he continued to swing in silence._

_Kane paused for a moment with his arms suspended in an impatient gesture. After a few moments of awkward silence, he threw them down in dismissal. "Whatever …" he declared, turning his back on Bram. "I've got better things to do."_

_"Don't go—", Bram called after him, finally finding his voice. "I'm just not feeling well, okay?"_

_"What do you mean?" Kane looked down at Bram's shirt and seemed to recognize the dried blood along the neckline. "You got beat again, didn't you?" He answered his own question. "It was the Jacob boys, again—wasn't it?"_

_"Nah," Bram lied, embarrassed. "It was an accident."_

_Kane pulled on Bram's shirt collar, revealing his bruised and swollen chest. Bram pulled away, but Kane had already seen. His face turned sour. "Is that an accident, too?"_

_Clenching his fist, he turned to leave, but Bram called out to him._

_"Don't do it, Kane. They'll only beat me worse if you do."_

_His friend halted, but did not turn around. "Then what do you want me to do?" he challenged. "It ain't right! You're smaller than they are, and there are three of them. They're a bunch of cowards—I can take 'em all on!" He was fuming._

_"I know," Bram responded. "You've always been there for me, but this time I have to do it myself."_

_Kane lowered his head, unwilling to make eye contact. "It's just that you and me … we're like brothers, so I take it personally."_

_Bram leapt from the swing, clutching his chest in agony as he landed. "I know. Thanks."_

_He put his hand on his friend's shoulder. Kane shrugged it off and left down the dirt path. It was the last time he offered to stand up for Bram, and the last time he ever needed to._

Darkness rose again from the edge of Bram's consciousness. He turned around and watched it swallow the tire swing and towering oak. It swirled around him, taking his fondest memories, and burying them in a sea of deepest oblivion.

_"Kane," an older and more mature Bram called out. "What are you doing?" He stood under the archway of his friend's dormitory room at the Academy. He had arrived to find him packing a large travel bag._

_"I'm leaving," Kane told him._

_"Where?" Bram asked. "Finals are tomorrow."_

_"I know."_

_Bram closed the door and walked to the cot in the center of the room. "Christine was looking for you."_

_Kane stopped his packing and stared vacantly at the frosted window overlooking the streets of Niedam. Creases were now visible around his eyes, which Bram had not remembered seeing before the autumn term started. He had heard rumors that Kane might be struggling with coursework, but he was too busy studying for his own exams to have intervened earlier._

_Over the past months, Kane had grown increasingly distant, and Bram began to worry. It was one of the reasons why he had stopped by to check on his friend. Whatever was going through Kane's mind, he shook his head as if to clear away those thoughts, and returned to stuffing more things into the bag._

_"I'll catch up with her later," he said stoically. In between a pair of slacks and a wool pullover, he handed Bram a letter. A dark, waxy seal signifying the Order of the Templars was still stuck to the bottom of the page. Bram unfolded the paper and slowly read its contents._

_"Does this mean you won't be coming back?" he asked, but he already knew the answer. He strained to hold back the sadness from his voice._

_"It's something I have to do," Kane replied stiffly. "We're at war, and things are getting worse all the time. I have the chance to make a difference—and these guys, the Templars—only a few people ever get accepted into their order. I figured you'd be happy for me."_

_"I am," Bram responded, not sure what else to say. "What does your mother think?"_

_Kane frowned. "Doesn't matter what she thinks. It's my decision."_

_"What about school—?"_

_"Don't worry about it. I'll get my diploma while in training."_

_What about me? Bram yearned to ask._

_"Well, I think it's an honor," he said instead, trying to hide his true feelings. "If it's what you want, then you should do it."_

_Kane stared at him in silence. For a moment, Bram wanted to reach out and beg his friend to reconsider. He had heard stories about how hard the training was for new recruits. The Templars pushed their men to their physical limits, and only at the brink of death would they remold them into King Richard's most loyal bodyguards. But before he could say anything, Kane reached out to him._

_"Bram—thanks. You're my best friend."_

_Bram swallowed his objections and embraced his friend in a farewell hug. He did not realize until later that it would be the last time they would see each other again as young adults. Bram felt a tear, but he wiped it away before Kane saw._

_As he looked up, he found that Kane was gone. It was nothing more than an empty dormitory room. The bed was neatly made, as if it had not been used in quite some time. He looked around, confused, and then the darkness came …._

Murky obsidian mixed with swarthy sable, flowing from a core of guilt and despondency. A sickness arose as a far more sinister scene emerged.

_"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Bram."_

_Bram spun around to meet the man who had betrayed him. He instinctively placed himself before the girl._

_"Move aside!" the Templar snarled._

_"Damn you, Kane—I won't let you harm her! You and Richard can rot in the ground. I'll never follow his orders again!"_

_"Those are the words of a traitor, punishable by death. Do you intend to stand by them?"_

_"I won't back down!"_

_Kane looked down at his spear, his face contorted with indecision. After a short pause, his visage returned to the disciplined calm of a warrior about to enter battle. "So be it," he uttered, his spear raised._

_Bram donned his helm and drew his sword. He faced the man he had known since childhood, knowing he would not be able to leave the valley with Kane still alive. Shouting a war cry that filled him with as much pain as it did bloodlust, he ran forward with his blade poised to strike._

_His attack was fierce, and Kane fumbled. Bram's dark blade plunged into his friend's gut, piercing the armor and driving straight through. The toxins immediately rushed through his veins, draining the complexion from his face. In moments, he would die. Bram watched as Kane fell backwards, but the ground behind him no longer existed. Instead, a deep chasm stretched out into the distance, filled with thick black ooze._

_Bram regretted his actions and dove forward. He caught Kane by the hand, and tried to pull him back. But his fingers were slipping. He was losing his grip—_

_"Kane!" he called out through tears. "Grab my hand!"_

_"No, Bram … this is what you wanted."_

_"No! It's a mistake!"_

_Kane stared back at him through glassy eyes. "It's too late …."_

_His hand slipped out of Bram's grip, and the Templar fell into the chasm. Losing his leverage, Bram fell backwards as well, finding himself treading water in the same pool of black ooze. Flailing his arms, he waded through the darkness, fighting against the weight of his heavy armor. It dragged him down, deeper into the watery depths, drowning him in pity and self-loathing._

_Kane had betrayed him, and he hated him for it … but if not Kane, the king would have simply sent another man to do his dirty work. His friend was merely another victim of Richard's and Virgil's manipulations. Bram might have driven a fatal wedge into their friendship, but it was out of necessity—or was it? Was there not another way he could have reacted? In his anger, did he miss an opportunity to reach out to Kane, when his friend needed him the most? Bram kicked and flailed in the darkness, unable to fight the demons who questioned his choices._

He did not know how long he was submerged inside the deep black nothingness, but he awoke to find himself covered in sweat and breathing heavily. The memories of the dream floated around his vision for a bit before disappearing into the late morning light. Rolling to his side, he wept bitterly. Kane had been more than a friend to him—he had been his brother since childhood. Yet, hours ago, it had meant so little.

Part of Bram wanted to believe that he could still reach out to the friend he used to know and revere, but he would never be able to forget the despicable lengths that Kane had been willing to go. The Templar not only crossed a line—committing terrible war crimes that no man could ever take back—he had also betrayed himself, becoming a mockery of the selfless and benevolent man that had once stood at Bram's side. Whatever happened to him over the years, it erased the very thing that had made Kane special, twisting him into something wretched and vile.

The indoctrination into Angkor's military—for Templars in particular—was monstrous and inhumane. Bram had used to believe that training for loyalty and subservience protected his country from kinsmen who would be tempted to defect to the enemy, but never did he imagine that absolute servitude would compel a man to follow orders that would go against his own humanity. True, Kane had chosen his path, but Richard had given him the orders. Angkor's king was ultimately responsible, and had to be brought to justice!

Further, Bram had to find a way to stop him from spreading more harm. If the power of the sunstones was seductive enough for Richard to sanction mass murder and genocide, there was no question that this power did not belong in the hands of men. Bram had to put a stop to it before his former king gained any others!

Still steeped in fury, Bram stood up abruptly, ready to forge ahead with his convictions. That was when he noticed—as he scanned the ground from side to side—the child from Ur was gone. His anger was instantly quashed, as fear for her safety seeped into his mind. Endless possibilities raced as he looked frantically for any sign of her. A short distance away, he spotted the cleft footprints of a bipedal creature. Something must have taken her while the two of them slept! The tracks led further down the mountain.

He had to find her! She was all he had left to atone for his sins—his only lifeline to redemption for the part he played in the slaughter of the Conjurion tribe. If he failed to protect this lone survivor, he would be consumed by the dark bottomless despair that had threatened to destroy him only moments before. Shaking his head vehemently, he vowed never to let any harm come to her and followed the tracks with a single-minded focus.


	28. Chapter 3: Part II

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**Part II**

_Morning of Denuo, Third Day of Autumnmoon_

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As the morning wore on, a man named Géorg Töller searched vainly for an herb known as thistlewort. He was the owner of a medicinal shop in the Herdrick Bazaar, the great marketplace in the desert city of Saladin. His specialty was the sale of serums and tonics made from rare herbs. He began his search—as he usually did—when the sun cast its first rays over the horizon. Once per month, he combed the fringes of the Saladina Desert in search for rare ingredients to restock his supplies. He sold them to wizards, healers, and alchemists—who all paid handsomely.

Géorg was not always so fortunate to have a prominent and successful business. During the War, he fought as a soldier in the Kitezhian army, until a debilitating injury changed his life. While battling against his bitter enemy, Angkor, he received a deep wound in his right arm. He went into shock and lost consciousness, but his adversaries mistook it as fatal. Only after the battle did the enemy find him and place him in a labor camp for six months.

A medic treated the injury, but the conditions were squalid, and as a result the wound festered. When the pain became unbearable, the medic treated him a second time via amputation. The loss of his sword arm was a terrible blow, because it meant the end of his greatest ambition. He could no longer fight for his country, and as a result, he fell into a deep depression. His kinsmen eventually liberated the camp, but freedom did little to lift his spirits. For the next several months, he kept to himself, hardly eating or sleeping.

His lifestyle slowly worsened. Few were willing or able to hire a one-armed warrior, and his own country repossessed his home when he was unable to afford the taxes. He explored the local shelters searching for charity, but he was turned down in favor of the mounting numbers of widows and orphans. With no other recourse, he turned to begging. He owned nothing, except for the tattered clothes on his back, which barely protected him from the northern Kitezhian chill. With food and shelter ever more scarce, his muscular athletic body quickly withered to skin and bones.

One day, he found himself walking the streets of a city, of which he did not know the name. He held an empty tin cup and mumbled for mercy to passersby. Unfortunately, many others faced tough times. War ravaged the country, and Angkor gained more ground with each passing week. The Kitezhian army shifted their dwindling resources toward maintaining the health of their soldiers. Géorg received none of this aid, since the army no longer considered him under their protection. Neither was he a vagrant, since at least they found mercy occasionally. People ignored him, and his health worsened.

Just as he thought all hope was lost, a young healer named Ilse Von Soutine found him. She saw the strength of a noble warrior behind his helpless visage, so she led him to a local shelter where she nursed him back to health. Although Ilse had limited skills in white magic, her true talents lay in herbal medicine. While caring for Géorg, she taught him the many subtleties of herb lore. Having little else to do with his time, he took note of her teachings. When his health improved, she helped him to get a job as a nurse.

After several weeks of working at the shelter, she left to help with the War, and Géorg followed. They were stationed in the Saladina Desert, which was the main front in the War's middle years. They worked there in the background to help treat the wounded. Even with one arm, Géorg grew competent at triaging patients. He worked well with Ilse, and it felt revitalizing to be so close to the battlefield. His depression lifted, and his outlook improved.

That was when tragedy struck. While Géorg spent one morning looking for herbs, an Angkorian raid struck the medical camp, killing everyone inside. He returned to find everything burnt to the ground. The hopeful spring welling up in his heart suddenly ran as dry as the desert sands. He fell to his knees, feeling like his world had once again been severed from him.

As he sorted dejectedly through the ashes, he found a small metal case. He had seen Ilse keep some of her most cherished personal belongings there, so he opened it. Inside was a journal. The pages were burnt and barely readable, but a few entries still survived. He grasped the paper tenderly, holding it up to the light of the sun to make out the faint text atop the umber-colored background.

He learned that she had carried feelings for him. She treasured their moments together, and desired a life with him after the War. She expressed a wish that they would open an herbology business, and combine their talents to help others. He wiped away the salty moisture forming around his eyes, cursing aloud the particles of sand that he had imagined were irritating them. With courage, he decided to forge ahead. Casting aside the temptations of depression, he sought instead to honor Ilse's memory, and bring her dream into fruition.

In the following months, he spent countless hours sifting through the aftermath of battles, searching for anything he could salvage and sell for a price. He unstrapped pieces of armor from the dead, and plundered weapons and magical artifacts left behind in haste. He also found broken machinery, which he recovered and repaired to the best of his ability. Battles occurred frequently in the desert—and as long as he had his viscar, a waterskin, and protection from the hot sun, he could find items of value.

After accumulating enough wealth, he set up a shop in Saladin to honor Ilse's wish of helping others. Using the skills she had taught him, he ventured into the wilderness in search of rare curative herbs. The mountains around the desert held a trove of such items, as well as nearby caverns and ravines. As long as one was brave enough to venture in odd locations, they could find almost anything.

His business quickly grew. After the War, his wares were in high demand, so he sold his viscar in favor of a sandskipper. Made by Kitezhian wizards, these platforms were changed by magic, and floated above level ground at greater speeds than any mounted animal. They even hovered over water, provided it was not too deep. It made it easier for Géorg to scurry across the desert by night, and still have the entire day to find items for his inventory.

That particular morning, he used his sandskipper to obtain the last ingredient on his list. His search took him near the foot of the Zeugma Pass. In recent months, he loathed to travel so far south due to the heightened spawn activity. Though his profession already required a great deal of risk, he had no desire to cross the line from bravery to foolishness.

His last herb was called thistlewort, and it grew in dark areas. What made it difficult was that it could be confused with more common flora. The only perceivable difference lay in the small and narrow root system, which made it susceptible to other weeds growing over it. Because of this limitation, it only thrived among plants with similar disadvantages, such as thistle.

The ravines below the Zeugma Pass were home to plenty of thistle, but only some of them hid the valuable thistlewort herb. Since early morning, he had walked through many of these, but he had yet to have any luck.

Just as he was about to leave empty-handed, he caught sight of something moving slowly in the distance. It appeared to be a white gown fluttering gently in the breeze. While he did not relish having to wade through the sharply barbed shrubs, he was overcome with curiosity. Gritting his teeth, he tip-toed carefully through the sea of thorns. As he drew closer, he saw a woman along with the gown, her body suspended in the prickly branches.

"Dear Goddess," he breathed, fighting his way toward the body.

The woman had numerous cuts across her face and body, but he found a faint pulse. She was alive! Her complexion was ashen and she appeared to be dehydrated, but there was still hope of a recovery. Turning her head, he noticed the poisoned barbs of a corvusaur sticking from her bruised and swollen neck.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought of spawn lurking nearby. He glanced up at the tall cliffs, which towered high above him, hiding the skies. Fortunately, he spotted no immediate threat, but the risk of a corvusaur hiding along the cliff-side motivated him to end his scavenger hunt prematurely.

"Just great," he muttered to himself in disgust. "Yet another reason for me to avoid these parts."

If the woman had indeed fallen from above, then the shrub's leafy canopy must have broken her fall. Many thorns had punctured her delicate skin, but none had opened any major arteries.

Géorg lifted her onto his shoulder and carried her back to his sandskipper. Once there, he applied some salve to reduce the swelling and some antidote to help her recover from the corvusaur's paralytic agent. He then used a special tool to remove the barbs, careful not to expose himself to their numbing agents. He wished he could do more, but he had very few herbs on hand. And besides, herbal medicine only went so far. At some point, patients in as poor shape as his Jane Doe would require white wizards to have a chance of pulling through.

With that in mind, he set a course back to Saladin. The thistlewort would have to wait for another day.


	29. Chapter 3: Part III

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* * *

**Part III**

_Morning of Denuo, Third Day of Autumnmoon_

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Gnostic Knights trained as wilderness experts. This prepared them for the kinds of deep-stealth missions necessary to subvert the advance of the enemy, and it included how to hunt and track. Bram used these skills to find his missing companion, as he followed the footprints of her captor down the rocky mountain path.

Based on his assessment, he tracked a creature known as a scraag. These were bipedal predators sometimes mistaken as spawn, except that they were far more intelligent and cunning. They were tall and lanky, with tight leathery skin stretched across hideous human-like faces. Usually, they refrained from attacking anything they deemed as a threat. Even as they kidnapped Bram's defenseless companion, they had left him sleeping undisturbed.

Most scraag never ventured to the surface, preferring instead to stay close to their subterranean lairs. However, an increasing number of them had been sighted in recent years near human settlements. Bram hoped the creatures would keep the child alive long enough for him to reach her.

He determined the prints were from a lone scout. The creature was male, measured approximately seven feet tall, and carried a mass that roughly matched the weight of the missing child. Bram followed quickly down the sloped path, leaping over depressions and ducking under branches. At the lower elevations, shrubs became more abundant, but on this side of the mountain, the soil was gritty and the flora was scarce. Farther past the base, he would find himself at the edge of the Saladina Desert, a desolate wasteland that stretched for more than a hundred leagues to the north.

Many caves populated the landscape close to the desert. Any one of them could be home to a sleuth of scraag and their hapless prisoner. Bram had to rely on his training to follow the trail to the right one. His search continued along rocky ground, forcing him to look for subtle disruptions, such as scraped surfaces and disturbed debris—anything that would point him in the right direction. He needed to be certain, but he also knew that time worked against him.

The trail led him to a crack in the side of the mountain, which offered enough space for several scraag to take up residence. Bram hoped his skills had led him to the right location, since there was no telling how much longer they would keep the child alive. The interior was dark, and he had no torch or luminess to light his path. Instead, he used another technique from his wilderness training.

As he entered the narrow cavern, he closed his eyes and opened his mind to his other senses. He detected the faint smell of charcoal, and felt a draft brush against his face. Further inside, his ears caught the sound of movement. Waving his sword along the ground as a guide, he slowly made his way through the twists and turns of the cavern.

At last, his ears detected the soft, guttural language of the scraag. Two of the creatures spoke, but Bram knew a third would be close by. The interesting twist to the scraag race was that they were trisexual, requiring three scraag to procreate. Besides the male and female, the third sex—called the _catalyst_—was born without reproductive organs. Instead, it had the ability to secrete an enzyme that the egg and seed needed to fertilize. Even without this third sex, a male and female could exchange genetic information, but the combined cell would remain dormant until the enzyme was applied. Thus, while someone might find two scraag together, they rarely traveled without a third.

He remained focused and alert as he crept along the shadows, approaching the heart of the cave. In the center burned a fire. It cast just enough light for him to see the child from Ur on a bed of dead leaves in the corner. He also saw two scraag, one leaning over another, speaking in low tones. The second looked ill, laying bloated and motionless on the ground.

Neither of the scraag were male, but Bram knew one would be nearby. He turned around to get a better view of his surroundings, and sure enough, caught a hint of movement. It was just in time to dodge the impact of a large blunt object thrust toward his skull. The male scraag had apparently attempted to surprise its unexpected guest, but Bram was never one to let down his guard. The weapon was a tree branch, which it readied for a second swing. Bram leapt to the side, using his advantage in agility to overcome his oversized opponent.

Now that he had his bearings, he struck upward with his sword, slicing the male across the side. Any normal blade would have barely grazed the surface of a scraag's tough hide, but Bram's enchantments rent the flesh wide open, sending the scraag back into the shadows. The wound was mortal, but Bram remained alert, knowing the danger was not over.

He turned around to face the female, who had joined the fray with a burning branch from the fire pit. She swung it quickly, before he had a chance to leap out of the way. Fortunately, the enchanted plates of his armor absorbed much of the damage, but it left him cornered and facing an angrier and more aggressive male. Despite the mortal wound, it attacked with renewed strength.

With scraag on both sides, Bram chanced a more offensive stance, swinging his blade in a wide arc. It held the male at bay, but the female evaded his attack and returned with a swipe that hit him squarely across the face. His helm softened the blow, but it still sent reverberating pain throughout his body. He blinked to clear the stars from his eyes, and at the same time, plunged his sword toward the male.

The scraag was unprepared for the counter-strike, and had no room in the cave's cramped interior to fall further back. Bram's blade made its way through the thick skin covering its gut. He then withdrew the sword and pierced it again through its chest to finish the job. Though the creature had been his enemy, Bram usually made every effort to spare his victims the lasting pain of his sword's venom.

He turned to confront the female, but saw that she had instead retreated to the main chamber, where her hostage still lay in the corner. Bram followed her inside. Nearby, he saw the _catalyst_ laying still on the floor, breathing heavily. It was suffering from some kind of sickness, and in no condition to fight. Satisfied that a third attacker would not challenge him, he turned his attention toward the female. She had her arms curled around the young girl from Ur. Bram tensed, fearing it might try to harm the defenseless child. Instead, it cowered over her, almost as if trying to protect her. The behavior seemed almost human in nature.

Bram relaxed his sword to see if the scraag would accept it as a peaceful gesture. Instead, it lunged forward, baring its sharp teeth. Bram pulled up on his blade, allowing the scraag's momentum to impale itself. He was glad he had not let his guard down completely. Using his steel boot and a bit of force, he pried the blade free. He then turned toward the _catalyst_, and having pity on it, took its life as well. The blow was painless, and at least it would not suffer from lack of food or care while its mates rotted beside it.

He took the unconscious child in his arms once more, and was filled with relief to find that she was uninjured and sleeping peacefully. He carried her out of the cave and looked northward, toward the Saladina desert. He had to make a choice; either make his way to Kitezh and warn them of Angkor's ambitions, or find an alternative.

The desert was brutal, and without appropriate clothing or water, he was risking his own life, as well as that of the child. Even if he made it as far as Kitezh, he would still need to face his homeland. Angkor—the world's most powerful country—would become his enemy, and they would have the unimaginable power of the sunstones at their disposal. If he were ever captured and brought before his king's judgment, his life would be forfeit.

As he thought it through, his worries shifted to Rosa, and what his kingdom might do to her as leverage against him. Of course, returning to his homeland was utterly unthinkable. Richard would quickly have him marked a traitor, drawn and quartered at the first opportunity. Bram had to hope that Rosa was resourceful enough to stay out of trouble, and that his enemies would not think to pursue a quarreling couple.

And then there was the life of the child to consider. Richard had already ordered the genocide of her entire tribe, and there was no reason to think he would relent once he learned of her existence. Bram still did not understand the full extent of Richard's reasoning. His methods were extreme, if the only motive was protection from a future potential threat.

Either way, Bram realized he had just one path forward. He had to rely on his training to cross the desert. He knew there were periodic oases for travelers, but the trick was in finding one before the sun's heat overtook him. If he could reach the desert city of Saladin, he could plan his next move. He heaved a sigh of submission, fully conscious of the dangers ahead of him. But with a path now set, he slowly marched forward.


	30. Chapter 3: Part IV

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**Part IV**

_Afternoon of Denuo, Third Day of Autumnmoon_

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Two thousand, five hundred, and ninety-two—Cedric knew this number well, since he had already counted it numerous times. It was the number of bricks that composed the walls of his cell at the south-east corner of the jail. He occupied his time with this mundane activity in the hopes that it would ease his restless mind. His body was fatigued from lack of sleep, but his anxieties prevented him from dozing off. He lost track with how many hours had passed since he had started counting, and counting ….

After the Templars apprehended him in the Archives, they took him to the king's magistrate, who delivered quick judgment. The charge was abetting a wanted criminal. He was denied due process, and told to await sentence directly from the king. Under Angkorian Law, Richard personally reviewed all crimes within the walls of the capital, thus giving the benefit of the doubt to any upper-class citizens accused of white-collar crimes. The jail was merely a temporary containment. If a prisoner were found guilty, he would be transferred to the prison in Niedam, along with the ruffians, rapists, and murderers.

Of course, this adjudication occurred based on the king's availability to deliver a sentence. He did not always make his judicial duties a priority, so prisoners sometimes stewed for days or weeks before receiving a pardon—or a sentence. Until then, Cedric would have plenty of time to recount the bricks.

He tried to put his mind at ease so that he could plan his defense, but his thoughts always strayed to the woman for whom he had risked everything to protect. Rosa did not deserve to be labeled a criminal. She fought in the War to defend her nation, battling on the front lines against Koba and Kitezh, while Angkor's lords and ladies grew fat inside their fortress-made capital. Yet now, these same aristocrats sought to prosecute her. His eyes wandered to the window, his only portal to the outside. Somewhere out there, the true villains had the upper hand. It was intolerable—an injustice that filled him with anger and frustration!

Yet he could do little while surrounded by the harsh and lonely stone walls. His only hope lay in his king, a man he still trusted from the many years they had worked together. Richard had proven himself wise and honorable. If Cedric could only help him to see through the trickery and come to his senses, he knew that the charges would be dropped, and the true conspirators would be brought to justice. Otherwise, what hope did he have?

He expected days of torment from all the waiting and uncertainty, so it came as a surprise when four armed soldiers entered the jail, asking for him by name. The intake officer pointed to his cell, and the soldiers headed there to meet him.

"Mister Curtis," one of them stated coldly, "His Excellency requests an audience. You are to be escorted to the palace immediately."

_An audience_? A meeting directly with the king was highly irregular, but it was Cedric's chance to finally set the record straight! Perhaps fortune had finally smiled upon him. He wore a cautious smile, intending to give his liege an earful, hopeful that the truth would set things right.


	31. Chapter 3: Part V

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**Part V**

_Afternoon of Denuo, Third Day of Autumnmoon_

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The Saladina Desert was a wasteland, but in spite of that, it had become a widely traveled area. It was located at the center of the Northern Continent, offering a direct route between five major countries. Avoiding the desert meant long treks around expansive mountain ranges, or voyages by sea that added weeks to travel time. So despite the dangers, many travelers and merchants braved their way through the hot sun and barren sands.

Before the War, Kitezh had laid claim to the entire region, all the way south to the Zeugma Pass. It had been that way for centuries, but in its last years of reign, the Kitezhian government barely exerted control. Ulrich Brandt—the famous Kitezhian monarch—set up regency in Saladin, but it only managed to incite rebellion as the people there asserted their own sovereignty. They claimed the desert ruled itself, and any attempt at outside governance met with swift resistance.

After the War ended and Angkor attained victory over Kitezh, the treaties declared Saladin independent. Angkor seized control of the Zeugma Pass, but left the desert and its contents to the native clans. On one hand, it was a practical matter, since King Richard had no desire to waste time battling over contentious lands. But to the Saladina people, it meant freedom. Many underground liberationists finally revealed themselves, and the newly freed nation prospered.

As a gesture of goodwill, the Saladina people set up markers throughout the desert to act as a navigation tool for outsiders. It opened up the entire continent to greater levels of trade and commerce, and led to a quickly recovering economy following the War. It was also the byway through which Bram Morrison charted his course.

He understood the risks of crossing the desert in his condition. Most travelers came prepared with detailed maps outlining the locations of known oases, plenty of water, and the proper clothing to protect against the penetrating heat. Bram, however, had just barely escaped the destruction of the valley of Ur, and had no provisions on hand. He only had his armor and his cape, and he used the latter to protect his still unconscious companion from the sun's damaging rays.

His only water came from the inside of a gourd that he found in the foothills at the base of the mountains, which he had hollowed out and filled at a nearby stream. As sparingly as he used it—just to moisten the lips of the young girl in his arms—the contents were quickly depleted. As for a map, he had none, save the periodic markers set up by the Saladina people to assure him of a northerly course.

The temperature was hot enough to sear, yet he still wore his helm to avoid getting burned. As a result, he found it difficult to breathe. He perspired under the stifling suit of armor, which quickly dehydrated him. He had taken the opportunity earlier to drink more than his fill of water, but nothing could have prepared him for the effects of the Saladina sun.

He also had to cope with the strain of his load. As he traveled, the child sapped his stamina, but he dared not lay her on the scorching sand, even for a moment. His armor carried an enchantment to protect against burns, but the spells had been meant to withstand the momentary blast of fire from a black wizard. In Bram's lengthy march through the desert, it only partially eased his discomfort. The leagues of travel strained even his hardened body. Each agonizing step required discipline and focus. He wanted to cry out in pain, except he did not want to waste a precious breath.

He cursed King Richard and Virgil for their trickery, and Kane for his deception. The betrayal was still an open wound, sensitive each time he touched it. Yet he could not help but replay the horrific events in his head. He tried to piece together why his kingdom would go to such great lengths to exterminate the Conjurions. He understood the power of the combined tribe as a potential threat, but not the obsession to eliminate every single member. It felt like he was missing a key piece of the puzzle—something that he needed to fully understand before he could confront his new enemy.

His march took him to one of the taller sand dunes, which he had scaled in order to scan the horizon for a place to rest. He knew there were plenty of oases, which all stemmed from a central aquifer deep underground. The surrounding mountains fed these waterways, and the flows eventually dumped into the ocean, farther to the northwest.

From the sun's position, he estimated about three hours of daylight remaining. After that, temperatures would drop, and the desert's scorching heat would give way to frigid cold. It would feel invigorating at first, but without some kind of shelter, his companion might not survive the night. He scanned his field of view, trying desperately to see through the blurry waves of heat rising from the hot sands.

He shut his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. Opening them again, he tried vainly to find a place to rest, even as he fought off exhaustion. But it did little good. The winds in the distance kicked up the sand, creating a dusty haze that obscured his field of view. Besides, he had gone without sleep for two days, with the exception of a short nap along the Zeugma Pass. It left him with limited energy, which he had spent marching since morning. It took every ounce of concentration to stay alert. With all his willpower, he trudged forward.

One step after agonizing step, one foot in front of the other, he advanced in search of an oasis. His back ached from the weight of the child, his face itched from sweat, and his mouth was dry and chapped. The endless toil hamstrung his legs, his eyes bulged, and his muscles stretched, ready to burst apart. His lungs wheezed, yearning for any little breath of air. His pupils dilated, losing focus.

In a last ditch effort, he drew in a final deep breath. It brought him a small dose of sanity to an otherwise disoriented mind. He vowed to take one more step, but his legs gave out. He tumbled forward, burying his face in the hot sand. And with that, his vision went black.


	32. Chapter 3: Part VI

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**Part VI**

_Afternoon of Denuo, Third Day of Autumnmoon_

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Cedric's escort led him from his jail cell, straight to the king's palace. The path took him to the hilltop overlooking the Inner Sanctum. He was a well-known figurehead in Angkor, and very quickly spectators had gathered to gawk at him. His face glowed red with embarrassment. When he was unable to keep up, the guardsmen shoved him from behind, giving the onlookers another reason to share whispers. Each step was a humiliating blow.

Once inside, they led him to a small conference room where they commanded him to sit and wait. It measured only five spans on a side, barely enough room for the ornate table and chairs made of cherry wood. A brass chandelier with six burning candles hung in the room's center. On the table sat a goblet filled with red wine and a mug of clear liquid, which he assumed was water. The ambiance made him feel at ease, so he reached for the goblet and sat in the nearest chair.

The room had no windows, and all four walls were covered with a strikingly intricate mural. It depicted a great battle between man and beast. Cedric remembered the story of the Omega War from when he was a child. Parents would use it as a lesson to coax their children into behaving appropriately. Bad children had to fear the return of the four demons, known as the Ahrimen. The mural depicted these monsters floating above a horde of dark creatures climbing out from a cleft in the earth. Each of them pointed with outstretched forefingers, commanding their servants to attack the human armies.

Further on, mankind gathered in vast citadels. Footmen, archers, and wizards marched forward in an epic battle. Cedric also noted sea vessels and men on strange winged creatures flying across the sky. He wondered how the picture might have looked with airships flying beside them. The painter left the scene open-ended, a frozen moment in time before either side had a chance to strike. It gave Cedric the impression that blood would flow the moment he left the room.

He took a sip from the goblet. The wine held flavors of citrus and berries, with a peppery aftertaste—and perhaps a hint of cinnamon? It was delicious. Arching his back, he heard the pop of realigned vertebrae. He could finally relax a bit, and did so while admiring the bronze detailing and luxurious velvet upholstery. He wondered how many upper-class prisoners received this level of courtesy. As he mused over the accommodations, a Templar entered the room.

"Rise," the man commanded curtly.

Cedric hastily returned the goblet to the table. Standing straight, he placed his arms in a crisscross on his chest and bowed his head. It was the manner customary to awaiting the King of Angkor. A second Templar entered and took his place on the opposite side of the door.

"His Majesty—the King of Angkor—Richard Cromwell enters the room," the Templar announced. He took the door by the handle and opened it wide. Inside walked the king in all his splendor, followed immediately by a third Templar. The small conference room started to feel rather cramped.

"Mister Curtis," greeted the king, like an old friend.

"My Liege," Cedric returned, bending to one knee.

Without answering, Richard snapped his fingers. The Templars bowed gracefully before leaving. After the door shut behind them, the king motioned toward the seat in the rear of the room.

"Sit."

The command was so direct that Cedric nearly tripped over himself as he back-stepped toward the chair. "Your Majesty," he said, bowing again before sinking into the plush cushion.

The king immediately posed his first question. "You've been in Angkor's service for many years, even before I took the throne. Isn't that right, Mister Curtis? How long has it been?"

"Yes, Sire, more than fifteen years."

Richard smiled. "That's why I trust you. You've served your kingdom faithfully all this time."

He walked behind Cedric's chair and placed his hands on his shoulders. The gesture might have been meant as comforting, but under the circumstances it was highly unsettling. "What I'm about to divulge is sensitive information, and shall not be repeated outside this room."

Cedric nodded while facing forward, away from his king. "Of course, my Lord."

"I've reason to believe that our neighbors to the north have been plotting behind our backs." Richard wasted no time in blurting out his bombshell.

Cedric would have turned around to express his shock, but his king had a tight grip against his shoulders, pressing his thumbs deeply into Cedric's flesh. Cedric felt compressed between the plush cushions and his king's regal hands.

Richard continued. "I believe one of my Gnostics—a man you know as Abraham Morrison—has been colluding with the enemy. And furthermore, he may have elicited the cooperation of his mistress, Miss Rosalyn Reynolds."

Cedric caught his breath. He was stunned beyond words. His king's claims took him completely by surprise!

Releasing his grip, Richard left his position behind Cedric to join him in a nearby chair. He seemed to take note of the craftsman's expression as he settled in comfortably. "Don't get me wrong, Mister Curtis. I'm not here to implicate you or Miss Reynolds with treason. In fact, I suspect she's unaware of her lover's betrayal. Rather, Mister Morrison appears to have tricked her into cooperating. Surely you must have suspected something of the sort, did you not?"

This was the opening Cedric had been waiting for. He pulled himself together to respond in kind. "As a matter of fact, Sire, I had started to doubt Sir Morrison's intentions. But after what I've seen, I'm not sure what to believe."

Richard looked at him curiously. "Tell your king what you have seen." As Cedric had hoped, Richard was willing to hear his side of the story. So he wasted no time.

"On the night I met with Miss Reynolds in the Archives, I happened to overhear a conversation involving one of your chancellors, a man named Virgil Garvey. It occurred in the hangar, inside the Substratum, where Virgil was joined by one of your Gnostic Knights."

Richard shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "One of my Gnostics, you say?"

"That's right," the craftsman responded. "Mister Garvey revealed to him that he would press you toward war with Kitezh. It was in order to obtain something from them—the sunstone, I believe. What concerns me more than the idea of Sir Morrison defecting to the enemy, would be the notion of conspirators within your own palace."

The king was silent for a moment, wearing a look of intense calculus. Perhaps Richard had it all wrong, and Virgil was the traitor instead of Bram. But Cedric wondered if he could convince the king to change his mind.

In a surprisingly calm manner, the king posed a question. "I assume you took this information to Miss Reynolds?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Cedric confirmed. "I was afraid for her. You see, your chancellor and the Gnostic seemed to suspect that she was gathering intelligence on Sir Morrison's behalf. The knight instructed Mister Garvey to 'eliminate' her, which I took to mean he planned to harm her."

"And what was Miss Reynolds's reaction?"

"It seemed to validate her theories, Sire, and so she left to catch up with Sir Morrison."

The king sighed, leading Cedric to believe that his words had left an impression. "Dear Mister Curtis, I can see how this might have appeared to you … but sadly you have it all backwards."

Cedric shook his head, thinking he might have misheard. "Backwards, Your Majesty?"

Richard put out his hands in a calming manner. "Be at ease, Mister Curtis. I'll explain."

Cedric was confused and anxious, yet his king seemed relaxed—not at all alarmed that his servants were conspiring behind his back. Cedric was sure his revelations would have placed the blame on Virgil, but the king acted as if the news made perfect sense. A number of questions were already spinning on Cedric's tongue, but he held them there, realizing that Richard intended to speak.

"First, I must provide you with some vital context," the king began. "Several days ago, Mister Garvey came to me with an important discovery. It was an old document—a _journal_—from a man that many had presumed was dead. I speak of none other than the renowned historian and wizard, Maurice Vance. When he disappeared, the wizard community naturally figured that his work had vanished with him. But in actuality, it had merely been mixed with papers of lesser importance, and later brought into the Archives without anyone realizing. Inside these journals, we learned of the forbidden research that Vance performed—in secret—on the sunstone in Vineta."

Cedric's emotions surged as soon as he heard the sunstones mentioned. Apparently, Rosa was right in researching these artifacts. But could she have been right about other things as well?

Richard continued. "As you know, wizards have studied these relics throughout the ages, but none have succeeded in unlocking their powers. They thought Vance had failed as well, but they were wrong! Of course, no one knew of his discoveries, because his journals had been missing—until now."

"What happened to Mister Vance?" Cedric asked.

"We suspect the protectors of the sunstone in Vineta—the Circle of Eight—were responsible for his disappearance, and that they did it to cover up his discoveries."

"But why—?"

"Because, Mister Curtis," the king glared, "they must have known the consequences of the sunstones falling into the wrong hands! They contain powers far beyond known wizardry. Should our enemies unlock the secrets of their own sunstones, Angkor would be powerless to defend against them."

"Is that why you sent Mister Garvey after the sunstone of Minoa?" Cedric asked.

Richard nodded. "Yes, but stealing it was not my initial intent. I merely wished to study its powers, in the hope of learning what we were up against. Minoa was chosen so that our northerly neighbors wouldn't notice. It was precisely the kind of strategic venture well suited for one of my Gnostics."

Cedric put the pieces of the puzzle together in his head. "So Bram's mission was to determine if the information in the journal was true?"

"Precisely, Mister Curtis! Of course, I did not suspect at the time that Sir Morrison might be working for the enemy. I sent Mister Garvey along with him, because he's an accomplished black wizard, and a trusted choice to conduct the necessary experiments. However, when Mister Garvey returned, he reported some rather disturbing news. Apparently, Sir Morrison had been sending secret communications to the Kitezhian capital, informing them of our discoveries, and the details of Vance's research."

Cedric's mouth hung open. So that was how Richard discovered Bram's treachery! But it still did not explain why the king sent him to Ur. "Why not arrest Sir Morrison on the spot?" Cedric asked to clarify. "You must have known as soon as he returned from Minoa."

"Ah, true, I could have done so," the king explained. "However, we did not know if Sir Morrison had involved anyone else. If I chose to expose his cover, I would have risked untold harm. So instead, I sent him to Ur under false pretense, to give us time to root out any accomplices. I put him under the close supervision of one of my templars … but sadly, we've recently lost contact."

The plot thickened, and Cedric hung on every word. "Lost contact, my Lord? How—"

"Oh dear …" the king wore a look of intense sympathy. "I suppose that while you were detained, you must not have heard …."

The mystery was maddening. "What happened?" Cedric asked, eager to hear the answer.

Richard shook his head. "It's quite tragic, really. Due to an unexpected geological event underneath the mountains of Ur, the entire valley was destroyed in a series of violent quakes and eruptions. In the chaos, we've lost all trace of Sir Morrison."

"Dear Gaia," Cedric breathed, feeling utterly dumbfounded. "I assume he hasn't been presumed dead yet?"

"That's correct," Richard answered. "We haven't confirmed either way, but he is one of my most accomplished knights, so it would be foolhardy to assume anything without proof. Of course, if Sir Morrison did make it out alive, there'd be only one place he'd go."

"The Kitezhian capital!" Cedric concluded.

"Precisely," Richard responded. "And even if Sir Morrison perished, we have reason to fear that Miss Reynolds might continue his crusade for him."

Cedric's heart sank at hearing Rosa implicated. He searched for a way to help exonerate her. "Your Majesty, I just can't believe Miss Reynolds would betray her country. Surely, we can reach out and warn her of Bram's defection."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Richard challenged. "Miss Reynolds has already fled from Angkor, and we have no means of reaching her. Who knows what Sir Morrison might have told her, or how determined she is to help him, even if she is completely naïve of his deception? Based on your conversation with her, do you doubt her determination to carry out Sir Morrison's wishes, Mister Curtis?"

Cedric shook his head. He did not want to believe it, but Rosa had been quite clear that she trusted Bram, and that she would do whatever it took to help him. She almost had Cedric convinced as well. If only he had minded his own business and not interfered. He felt like a fool!

"Well, Mister Curtis?"

Cedric could no longer deny it. Richard made an air-tight argument, and he had witnessed how eager Rosa had been to help Bram. He had to answer truthfully, even though it felt terrible saying so aloud. He hung his head shamefully. "I believe she'll do what Sir Morrison has asked of her."

Richard sighed. "As do I." His eyes continued to convey sympathy.

Cedric buried his face in his hands. "I beg your forgiveness, Sire. Please … if there's anything I can do to make this right."

Richard patted him on the arm. It was much less intimidating than the grip he had given to his shoulders earlier. "Be at ease, Mister Curtis. I certainly don't hold you accountable. In fact, there's something I very urgently need, and you're the only one who can provide it for me."

"Anything, my Lord!" Cedric's dearly hoped his king would grant him salvation.

Richard stood up in front of him. "I truly hope we'll never have to deploy this option—but if war should break out between Angkor and Kitezh, I'll need to be sure we can defend ourselves against the power of the sunstones. I believe your Zounds project is the key to keeping the advantage in our favor. You'll be pardoned of all charges, as long as you agree to return to work immediately."

Cedric was delighted at the second chance. "Yes, Your Majesty! I vow not to let you down again!"

Richard smiled, looking relieved. "Thank you, Mister Curtis. Angkor is once again in your debt."

Cedric beamed. The king walked to the door and gave three short knocks, and the Templars quickly reentered. As soon as he announced the pardon officially, his men escorted Cedric back to the courtyard. Without so much as a gesture, they reversed direction and left.

Cedric walked slowly back to his mansion, his head buzzing as he turned the conversation with Richard around in his head. He was exhausted, and overwhelmed by all the new information. He wished there was a way to reach out to Rosa to turn her from her path, but she had already made her choice. He had his own duty. As of tomorrow, he would return to his workshop and continue his design, as if the last two days had never happened.


	33. Chapter 3: Part VII

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* * *

**Part VII**

_Morning of Tertius, Fourth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Bram slowly opened his eyes. Things looked gray and out of focus, but something cold and refreshing dripped onto his face. It rolled gently along the contours of his cheeks and neck, trickled by the side of his nose, and slipped discreetly through his partially opened lips. _Water!_

He opened his mouth wide. His lips were chapped and the skin had peeled along the sides, but despite the sharp pain, he forced his dry tongue to lap up as many drops as he could. The coolness revitalized him and his clarity returned. He saw that the water came from a cupped palm. It was attached to an arm, which led to a body: young, female, with delicate, white hair. The child from Ur had finally awakened!

His eyes shot open and he stood up quickly, blood rushing to his head. His sudden movement frightened the child. She scurried backward, with eyes darting back and forth like those of a cornered animal.

"Please—wait," he rasped. A wave of nausea washed over him, and he sank to his knees. He clutched his throat, while bringing his other hand up to his aching head. Though thoroughly disoriented, he tried once again to work his voice. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to frighten you. Please, don't run."

The child's eyes grew calmer, and she looked at him curiously. As his vision cleared, he realized that he was surrounded by trees and vegetation, sure signs of an oasis. The sun told him it was early morning. He remembered nothing since passing out in the desert, but at that moment, it did not matter.

His helm lay on the ground by his side. Nearby ran a gentle stream, music to his ears. It came from under the sand, and after a short distance it once again disappeared underneath the desert's surface. Although small, it sparkled clean and clear. He could not hold back a desire to quench his thirst. While keeping one eye on the child, he inched toward the water. After removing his right gauntlet, he drove his arm into the cool spring, cupping his hand to bring the liquid to his lips.

The girl stared at him silently as he drank—noisily slurping the clear fluid until it coated his desiccated throat. He took his time, savoring every bit of it. He doused his head, letting it wash away the salt and grime. It dripped along his body and into the suit of armor. Feeling refreshed and with a clearer sense of his bearings, he faced the tribal child.

"Do you have a name?" he asked the girl, whose eyes had never left him. She continued to stare in silence, but after a moment, her lips trembled, and small tears streamed down her cheeks.

He cursed silently, feeling the callousness of his words. He dropped his gauntlet to the ground, and removed the other one as well. He then walked slowly toward her and kneeled. "I'm sorry, I … I've not forgotten the horrors you've faced."

He wondered what else to say, and could not find a good enough apology to cover his crimes. So he took hold of her hand while placing his other hand on her shoulder. "I didn't want things to happen as they did. Still—it's no excuse, because I was a part of it. I only want you to know that if you give me a chance, I can protect you from those who wish you harm."

She looked up at him with eyes the size of saucers, filled with innocence. "Is my Mommy here?"

The question was heartbreaking. How could he ever begin to explain? "No, child," he responded, at a loss for words.

She sniffled, looking dispirited. "Is she with the others?"

"Yes, she is," he responded, trying to find a way to express the horrific event. "Your mother was very brave, but she had to leave this world. But many others you knew went with her, to help her find the world beyond." He was unable to hold back the guilt and sadness. A tear slid down his own face, blending with the droplets of water and sand along his cheeks.

Nevertheless, the child seemed to understand. He did not know why, but she accepted his explanation.

As realization came to her, her shoulders slumped, and her face looked toward the ground. "I'm all alone …."

Bram shook his head. He could not accept that. Despite the hardship and commitment, he remembered his vow from the top of the mountain.

"No, you won't be," he assured her. "I'll protect you."

She stared at him in disbelief. "You?"

He stared back at her and nodded.

"Promise?" came the tiniest little voice.

Bram felt a firm resolve. "Yes. I promise." He let the little girl embrace him with her small and delicate arms. She started to cry, but hers were tears of empathy, the kind a child sheds to share in the pain of others. Bram closed his hands around her fragile body, and felt the same emotion. It was compassion, and perhaps the way a parent feels for his or her own child. Right now, she had no family. They had perished to fire, just as his had been. It was time for him to honor the lives of those he lost by saving this one in return.

After a few moments of shared emotions, the child and soldier sat and talked for the first time.

"I'm Uriana," she told him. "But my friends call me Yuri, for short."

"Yuri," he repeated, musing over the simple piece of knowledge that represented the first brick of a bond he hoped to build. "Call me Bram. It's short for Abraham, but only my parents called me that." He offered a half-smile.

Uriana looked up at him and giggled, but seemed unsure of what to say next. Bram smiled even wider, something he rarely did.

"How's your head," he asked, remembering the fall that rendered her unconscious.

"It doesn't hurt."

"Let me see it." He motioned for Uriana to come closer, and she crept slowly within his reach.

He checked along her scalp, but amazingly, it was free from even a single bruise. "You seem fine," he concluded with uncertainty. "So, Yuri, do you know how we got here?"

"My pet Waddles saved us," she explained.

Bram chuckled, assuming it was some kind of imaginary creature. "_Waddles_? Who's that?"

"Watch, I'll show you." The young Conjurion stood up and yelled, "Waddles! Come here, Waddles!" She pursed her lips and whistled. The sound pierced through the air and echoed back from all directions. Bram's skin felt the subtle pinprick of magic.

He was caught off guard when a viscar appeared from the side of a nearby tree. Nothing had been there earlier, he was sure of it! Uriana barely seemed to notice. Her expression was as if Waddles had always been there.

"Whissss!" the viscar hissed.

Uriana walked over and met the creature halfway. Bram saw from its bow-legged gait that the animal's name seemed appropriate. Waddles lowered its head and she hugged it, smiling.

Bram realized what was happening, having pieced together the events since the village of Ur. Waddles was not a viscar at all. Rather, it was an aeon that Uriana had called forth using her powers as a Conjurion. It looked like an ordinary viscar, but it emanated magic. She seemed to have no idea what she had done.

"Waddles is my friend," she explained. "He helps me when I'm in trouble."

"Did Waddles help us last night?" Bram asked, hoping that it would explain how he and she had ended up surviving the cold desert night.

"Yup!" she declared happily. "He brought us here and made us feel better."

Bram scratched his head. "Made us feel better? How did he do that?"

"You know—he made our ouches go away," she explained.

Based on Uriana's simplistic explanation, Bram theorized that Waddles must have magical healing powers. Perhaps all aeons did. Without them, there was no way they could have made it to the oasis alive.

He wondered what other tricks the aeon could help with. "Does Waddles know where we are?"

"In the desert," the child announced plainly, petting the viscar along its neck.

Bram smiled and decided to rephrase his question. "Does Waddles know if there's a town or a village nearby?"

"That way," she pointed without hesitation.

At first, Bram was skeptical. He saw no visible interaction between Uriana and her aeon, and it was unclear whether the two had actually communicated in any way. Perhaps she understood the question and pointed in the direction of a real village, or perhaps it was all just a game to her. Looking toward the sun as reference, he calculated the direction as roughly northeast. If Saladin did lay in the distance, then he had not ended up far from his original course.

He decided he would trust the child's prediction. There was certainly more to her than met the eye. It would be a great help if they reached the city before nightfall. Before heading out, he would bathe and disinfect his armor, and refill the gourd with water. He and Uriana would then ride Waddles toward their new destination.


	34. Chapter 3: Part VIII

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* * *

**Part VIII**

_Morning of Tertius, Fourth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Géorg applied a mixture of herbs to the young woman he had found at the base of the Zeugma Pass. He coated her neck to reduce the swelling, and help her breathe a bit easier. He then put some salve along her body to heal the torn and scraped skin. She had a fever, which might have been caused by an infection. He would need to treat it, but without the thistlewort, his options were limited.

She lay on his bed, inside the shack he called home. It would probably require a professional healer, but first he wanted to learn more about her. He decided to risk bringing her to consciousness long enough to pry a few answers. He mixed a few herbs and put them under her tongue. In a few moments, her eyelids began to flutter.

It took a moment for her eyes to dilate. She looked around the room as if trying to recognize her surroundings. She made an effort to sit up, but fell back to the mattress with a grunt.

"Miss, do not attempt to get up," he cautioned, in his thick Kitezhian accent. "You are suffering from the paralytic effects of a corvusaur, so your muscles will feel pretty stiff. But I assure you—you are safe here. You also had a very bad fall, and are lucky to be alive."

The mention of her fall seemed to trigger something in the young woman's memory. Fear entered her eyes, and she turned to face him. "Who are you?" she demanded in a hoarse voice. "And where am I?"

"Do not be afraid," he tried to remain calm, hoping his voice would soothe her distress. "Whatever happened to you has now passed. My name is Géorg, a merchant in Saladin, and you are in my home. I found you at the base of the Ur Mountains near the Zeugma Pass."

"How did you … happen to be there?" she inquired, her voice unsteady.

Géorg hoped an explanation would put her at ease. "Part of my trade involves scavenging for rare plants, and my search happened to be at the south side of the Saladina Desert. I found you there, at the base of a ravine." He handed her a glass of water. She flinched at the slightly muddy contents, but drank it anyway.

"The water in Saladin may not always be clear, but it is clean enough to drink," he assured her. He waited patiently while she finished, now quite curious to learn who she was. "I was hoping you could tell me your name."

"I don't see why I should," she responded. "I'm sorry, but I don't trust you well enough to reveal my identity."

Géorg nodded in understanding. "Very well. You may remain anonymous, if that is your wish, but you must understand your condition. I have patched you up as best I can, but you have lost quite a bit of blood, and I detect the onset of fever. It may be due to the barbs of a corvusaur, which I found along your neck. They are notoriously dirty creatures, and it may have given you an infection. If left untreated, it might get progressively worse."

The young woman lowered her eyes.

"However, I can tell by your clothes that you come from a wealthy family. You must have loved ones searching for you. If you give me permission, I can help you to locate them."

Her eyes opened wide and she responded forcefully. "No! You mustn't tell anyone that I'm here."

Géorg was surprised by the sudden outburst. The woman looked terrified. "Why not?" he asked. "Are you in trouble?"

She turned her head away. "Please … no one must know."

Géorg began to wonder. He stood up and eyed her thoughtfully. "I can tell from your accent that you are from Angkor, no?"

She refused to answer, but the truth was written all over her face. "Are you some kind of criminal?" he asked. "Were you fleeing from authorities before I found you? Tell me you have not done anything to bring the wrath of that country into my home!"

The woman lay on her back with her head toward the ceiling. She said nothing, but her silence confirmed everything.

"Great Gaia," he breathed, ready to say his prayers. He started to pace, thinking of how to handle this newly acquired liability. At last, he returned to the woman's bedside.

"Here is what I shall do," he began. "I cannot in good conscience turn you over to the authorities, but neither will I place myself at risk. I must leave to retrieve supplies for your fever, but will return soon. You may stay for a day or two, but if the fever worsens, you will need professional help. I will have no choice but to send you on your way, since I will _not_ be an accomplice to a woman dying in my bed!"

"Fine," she said, with eyes still fixated on the ceiling. Géorg removed some fruit from a cupboard and placed it beside her bed.

"If you are hungry, then eat. However, I would suggest you get some rest." With that said, he headed for the door.

"Thank you," she called out as he left the shack. He paused for a moment, but did not bother looking back.


	35. Chapter 3: Part IX

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* * *

**Part IX**

_Afternoon of Tertius, Fourth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Before reaching Saladin, Bram removed his armor and donned civilian clothes. North of Angkor, the garb of a Gnostic was bound to get him into trouble, due to the many horrific acts of violence performed by the Knights during the War. Bram figured it was still fresh on the minds of many in the region, and he did not want to run into anyone with a bone to pick.

He found a peddler a league's distance from the city who was traveling to Vineta. At the sight of a few gold coins, the grizzled old traveler swallowed his questions and offered Bram anything from his cart. Bram purchased some clothes for himself and Uriana, including a bonnet to cover her conspicuous white hair. He also bought a large hemp sack to carry his armor and keep it hidden. He would have paid more for food and water, but the peddler was unwilling to part with any provisions—even for a sizable sum.

"Damned if I die in the desert," he mumbled. "There's an inn about a league that way, on the outskirts," he pointed behind his shoulder. "You'll find water and a good meal there."

Bram thanked the man and counted his remaining coins. Given the high cost of lodging and provisions, as well as the funds to procure a mount for their continued journey, he had to be more frugal. Peddlers in Saladin loved to haggle, but Bram did not have time to waste shopping around. After witnessing the destruction of Ur, he knew that King Richard would stop at nothing to seize the remaining sunstones, and it would most likely start with the one in Kitezh. He felt an urgency to reach their capital and warn their king. Somehow, he would have to stretch his dwindling reserves to get there.

Before reaching the inn, he asked Uriana to send Waddles away. The child leaned close to the creature's head and whispered some words in its ear. The viscar galloped off in the distance, slowly fading away like a distant mirage. Bram wondered where aeons went after they disappeared. He asked Uriana about it, but she did not appear to understand.

"Waddles is always right here," she responded with an innocent smile.

Bram smiled, too, and let the matter drop.

When they arrived at the inn, it was completely full. Many of the patrons were no doubt headed to neighboring countries to sell their wares at a premium. Foreign goods always commanded a handsome price, and ever since the War ended, a larger number of merchants dreamt of making their fortunes. By the time they crossed the continent, they often had enough gold to return home and make their peers envious—which of course incited more merchants to brave the route the following year.

It was the right time of year for commercial pilgrimages, and prudent peddlers were smart enough to bring along bodyguards to protect against spawn or waylaying bandits. As these threats grew worse and trade became more profitable, travelers would hire even more mercenaries. It was a virtuous cycle that resulted in entire entourages, causing all nearby inns to overflow with occupants. Bram figured these crowds would make it difficult to find vacancy in any of the surrounding establishments.

He would have to travel quite a ways into the city before finding any rooms, but food and drink could not wait. He was especially concerned for Uriana, who probably had not eaten in more than two days. He waited for the innkeeper behind an irate older gentleman with a long white beard, dressed in tattered gray robes. Both men were engaged in a passionate discourse.

"What do you mean, there's no room?" the old man hounded. "I don't care who you have to kick out, but I'm willing to pay handsomely for anything you've got in this dump."

"I'm sorry, _sir_, but like I said—there's no vacancy," the innkeeper replied, clearly out of patience. "I can't evict another paying customer."

"Do you have any idea how far I've come?" the old man pressed. "I've traveled all the way from Vineta in three days looking for the man who eloped with my daughter. And I don't have time to waste! All I need is a place to rest, and then I'll be off. So how much will it cost me?"

"Three days?" the innkeeper repeated, rolling his eyes. "Right … like I said, we're booked. And if you don't stop pestering me, I'll have you thrown out!" He gestured toward a couple of burly looking characters by the inn's entrance, apparently hired peacekeepers. They looked ready to pounce.

The old man pointed to the innkeeper with a gnarled index finger. "Don't you _dare_ threaten me! Do you know who I am? If you try anything, I'll put a curse on you!"

Losing interest in the vexed lunatic, the innkeeper turned toward Bram. "I'm sure you've overheard. There's no open rooms here, so you might as well move on. You'll find other inns further in the city."

"I'm not here for a room," Bram responded. "I just want some food and water for me … and my daughter." He gestured toward Uriana.

"I'd move on, if I were you," the old man advised. "When an inn has bad service, it usually means bad food!"

"That's it!" the innkeeper shrieked. Pushing past Bram and the old man, he headed angrily toward the guards at the door.

"I'm hungry," whined Uriana, whose presence had been nearly overlooked amid all the commotion.

The old man looked at her fondly. "My dear child," he began, "that's no way for a little girl to feel." He bent over and touched her on the cheek. As he made contact, a small white light flashed from his fingertips. When the guardsmen saw this, they took a step back, uttering expletives.

"We don't handle magic users," Bram overheard one of them tell the innkeeper. "It's not in our contract."

The innkeeper turned beet red, his eyes bulging. He opened his mouth to say something, but the old man interrupted.

"Don't bother. I'll leave peacefully." With a much meeker attitude, he headed for the door.

"Wait—" Uriana called, reaching out with her arm.

"No, Yuri," Bram told her. "We can't get involved with someone like that."

"But he helped me," she explained. "My tummy doesn't hurt anymore."

Despite her simple intentions, Bram saw wisdom in her advice. If the man were a white wizard who made it from Vineta to Saladin in three days, then eliciting his help might cut days' worth of travel time to Kitezh. Not to mention that it might avoid the high cost of traditional travel. There was little to lose from asking. Taking Uriana by the hand, he turned toward the door. She led the way.

Once outside, he looked in all directions. Fortunately, the old man had not gone far. Bram ran to catch up.

"Sir!" he called out. "Excuse me—Mister!"

The old man spun around, looking surprised. "What do you want?" he demanded while waving his walking stick in the air threateningly.

Bram held out his hands in a peaceful manner. "Just a moment of your time. My name's Bram, and this is Yuri."

The old man's face softened at the sight of her. His lips twitched in a smile. "Are you feeling better, my dear?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied politely.

Now that the old man was in a talking mood, Bram swooped in for the ice-breaker. "I wanted to offer my appreciation for your kindness earlier, but I don't know who to thank. What's your name?"

"Oh, my name?" the old man cracked a smile and cleared his throat. He backed up and spread his arms wide, as if ready to put on a show to an imaginary audience.

White sparks sprung from his fingertips, creating a dazzling lighting effect as he waved his arms from side to side. His voice was loud and boisterous, befitting a grand introduction. "If White is the Day and Black is the Night, then _I_ am the Dawn and the Dusk. If White is the Sun and Black is the Moon, then _I_ am the Stars and the Sky. My name is Matthias, the Gray." He raised his staff high into the air, and swooped it down along the ground, concluding the light show in a magnificent burst of fireworks. Uriana's eyes lit up as she watched. The old man ended with a bow.

"_Gray_?" Bram asked. "Are you claiming to be a _gray _wizard?" He recalled the stories his father had once told him about running into such a wizard. They were incredibly rare, due to the diverse nature of white and black magic. For someone to have the ability to draw on both forces, it would take something of a split personality.

"I wouldn't be called 'Matthias, the Gray' if I were anything else," the wizard snapped back angrily. Bram raised his eyebrows. Clearly, Matthias was deserving of his moniker.

Bram tried sloughing off the outburst. "We're trying to reach Kitezh," he explained calmly. "I overheard that you were headed there as well. I'd like to propose we travel together."

Matthias scowled. "Eh? What good would it do me? You'd only slow me down!"

"I'm handy with a sword," Bram argued. "I'd be useful if we run into spawn or bandits."

The old wizard waved his hand as if shooing away a fly. "I can take care of myself!"

"We can compensate you," Bram lied.

"I don't need your money—"

"Sir, please!" Bram had enough bartering with the crazy old man. He had one final argument, and then he would find his own way north. "Did you not tell the innkeeper that you were heading to Kitezh to find your daughter?"

The wizard's eyes narrowed. "What of it?"

"I only bring it up because I too am traveling to Kitezh to protect someone dear to me." He turned to Uriana and put his arm around her shoulder. "Make that _two people_."

Matthias looked at the child, and then back at Bram. He seemed ready to turn them down, but then his face softened. The frosty attitude went away, and he let out a heavy sigh. "Oh, all right! First I'll need to rest and eat—and restock my supplies. I hope you have a few coins in your purse, too, because I'm not buying your way!"

"Of course I do," Bram promised.

Matthias gave a nod and a grunt. He seemed satisfied, so he motioned for them to follow. His attitude took on a much lighter tone. "I've been to Saladin before, believe it or not. We'll want to stop by the Herdrick Bazaar. It's this way." He used his walking stick to point.

Uriana looked up at Bram and smiled approvingly. Apparently, trust came easy to her. Bram only hoped that Matthias the Gray deserved it.


	36. Chapter 3: Part X

**.**

* * *

**Part X**

_Afternoon of Tertius, Fourth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

From the ashes of war, a new economy sprung forth, bringing renewed life to the Northern Continent—and it all took place in an area called the Herdrick Bazaar. From its location inside the city of Saladin, it took only a week to travel to any of the neighboring countries, providing a central rendezvous for merchants to trade wares before setting off for their routes. Vinetans traded with Kitezhians before heading to Angkor, Angkorians traded with Vinetans before heading to Koba—and so on.

The bazaar itself stretched nearly a league in length, with merchants adding to it all the time. It became the city's central arc, and the surrounding boroughs expanded around it. Hundreds of shacks and booths ladened the main street, and scores of people busied themselves in the areas in between. Merchants, travelers, locals, and foreigners all bustled about, looking for the best deals in town—of which there were many.

After sitting down for their first good meal in days, Bram and Uriana followed their new acquaintance, Matthias the Gray, to this great marketplace, where he hoped to collect vital provisions. From there, they would finally have a chance to travel north to Kitezh.

"We're looking for an herbalist," the old wizard explained. "I won't go anywhere without restocking my medical supplies."

They asked the first few merchants they came across for the location of a good shop. A woman selling ceramic pots told them to look nearby to the east, where they found a small first-aid tent. Though they carried no herbs, the nurse referred them to a shack a few hundred spans in the other direction. Bram thanked her, and the group headed west. They passed by multiple locations selling medical supplies, hypodermic needles, salves and potions—leaving Bram to wonder why Matthias was so intent on finding an herbalist, when so many other items were in plentiful supply. He knew wizards were particular about their spell components, but reaching Kitezh was feeling ever more urgent as the afternoon went on.

Finally, they reached a surgeon who claimed to know exactly where to go. "You want herbs? Then you need to find Géorg Töller. I purchase supplies from him for my anesthetics." He pointed with hands that were dark red and sticky from earlier procedures. The lack of a cleaning station seemed conspicuously absent for someone still intent on performing sterile operations. "He is back on the east side."

Bram turned to Matthias and spoke under his breath, "How long do you intend to travel back and forth across the bazaar?"

"My legs are tired," Uriana complained.

"Fine!" Matthias snarled. "This will be the last place. If it doesn't have what I'm looking for, then we'll go without the blasted herbs!"

The name of the shop was Töller's Herbs. It was a small shack consisting of a wooden half-wall and a canvas on top. A tarp hung from a central pole that spanned the length of the tent and served to separate the front of the store from a back room. A number of display cases stood in front, furnished with green and violet leaves, roots of varying shapes and sizes, and a multitude of different-colored powders. A sharp but sweet odor permeated the air. The display cases appeared to be unattended, leaving Bram to wonder how a conscientious merchant would be so careless.

Matthias explained that crime in the bazaar was practically nonexistent due to ever-vigilant civilian patrols. Merchants felt at ease about leaving their wares in locked, glass containers without fear of theft.

Unfortunately, Töller Herbs appeared to be closed.

"Hullo," Matthias called to the back of the tent. "We'd like some service, please."

"Forget about it," Bram counseled. "There's no one here."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't forget!" the old wizard shot back, stomping his foot for emphasis. "I'm not leaving until I get what I came for."

Uriana giggled from Bram's side, reminding everyone that the shy little girl was still there. She seemed to find it funny that an old man like Matthias was putting on such a childish tantrum.

"Sorry, we are closed," a voice with a thick Kitezhian accent called from behind the flap. A man emerged with one arm, carrying a bulging burlap sack. He was either the aforementioned Géorg Töller, or someone of lesser conscience, ready to make off with most of the supplies.

"Are you the owner of this establishment?" Matthias inquired.

"I said, we are closed," he glibly responded.

Matthias took a step forward. "It'll only take a moment—"

The man sidestepped around Matthias. "Sorry, but I am in a hurry."

"Sir—" Bram quickly cut off the stranger's hasty retreat. "First, I'm going to need you to verify that you're the owner of this establishment."

"Of course," he responded, sounding indignant. "I am not a thief!"

Bram approached the one-armed man closely. "In that case, Mister Töller, let me explain something to you. We desperately need to reach Kitezh, and my friend here won't leave until he gets what he wants. We've been searching for hours to find an herbalist, and you're the first one we've found."

The so-called shopkeeper seemed unimpressed, so Bram put a hand on his shoulder and leaned close. He spoke under his breath, leaving no room to mistake the threatening tone in his voice. "I should mention that I'm _also_ used to getting what I want."

Mister Töller looked into Bram's eyes and seemed to recognize his deadly serious gaze. "I see," he responded, his own face hardening. Clearly, he would not be intimidated so easily. "In that case, you should refer to me as Géorg. Anyone wishing to threaten me should at least use my first name—no?"

"As you wish, _Géorg_," Bram responded, his voice filled with condescension. "Now, would you please help my wizard friend to find the herbs he requires?"

Géorg perked up. "You say your friend is a wizard? Can he cast white magic?"

"Of course I can!" Matthias responded, standing tall with arms crossed. Bram gritted his teeth, sensing another mood swing.

"I will make you a deal," Géorg proposed. "I have a patient in need of medical attention. If you agree to help her first, then I will sell you herbs—yes?"

"He accepts," Bram answered for Matthias, ignoring the look of outrage on the gray wizard's face.

"I want the herbs now!" Matthias insisted. "I get what I want, _first_, and _then_ I'll be willing to heal your patient."

"Done," Géorg agreed. "Tell me what you need."

Bram sighed in relief, glad to have finally brokered the deal. Even Matthias looked more composed, as he smoothed out the wrinkles from his tattered gray robes. Standing a few inches taller, he addressed the herbalist in a dignified voice.

"Well, then," he began, "the first thing I need … is thistlewort."

Géorg shook his head. "Sorry, all out."

Bram groaned.


	37. Chapter 3: Part XI

**.**

* * *

**Part XI**

_Afternoon of Tertius, Fourth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

As soon as Géorg sold the herbs that Matthias desired, he led the group into the heart of the city. Saladin's urban planning was a disorganized mess—the victim of an expanding city without regulations. Géorg's small abode was among a line of shacks beside an unpaved street, nestled in between taller buildings. The home was carved from the natural sandstone, along with all the others on the same block. A few children played with a pigskin ball on the side of the street, while an alley cat licked its paws in a shady corner.

After a long day in the hot sun, the streets radiated heat, turning the inner city into an oven. Bram's cotton garments stuck to his flesh, and his skin itched every time his hemp sack brushed against him. It was an incredible nuisance, but he dared not let the bag's contents leave his grasp. If anyone were to look inside and discover his Gnostic armor, it would expose his identity and cause all kinds of problems.

Géorg led the group into his small abode, which was dark except for a glint of sunlight coming through small horizontal slits along the tops of the walls. They were meant to cool the interior by allowing hot air to escape, rather than accumulate. The light was diffused through frayed cloths, which Géorg pushed aside to illuminate the room. In the far corner lay his supposed patient—a woman sleeping atop cotton sheets and a hay mattress. Some apple cores and a banana peel lay neatly in a bowl by her side.

Bram's sack slipped through limp fingers. He walked toward the woman as if in a daze, realization dawning with each advancing step. He thought he heard voices behind him, but they were muffled and distant. "_Do you know her?" _they asked, though he did not hear. The woman captured his full attention.

When he reached the bedside, he dropped to his knees and took her by the hands. Time seemed to stand still as he ran his fingertips along her tender skin. Surely it was a dream—or a nightmare! He could not tell for sure. "_Do you know this woman, Bram?_" someone repeated. His heart beat faster as the fragmented scene came together in his mind. Sweat oozed from his pores, and he shook with anxiety.

"I asked, 'Do you know her?' "

Bram felt a hand on his shoulder, and it broke his trance. He caught his breath, his gaze falling upon Géorg Töller, who stood by his side. Bram looked back at the woman, then to Géorg, trying to jar his brain back awake, to make sense out of the jumble of emotions littering his thought process.

He finally formed in a faint whisper. "Her name is Rosa."

Géorg sighed. "I see. She never revealed her name. I figured by her gown that she might be nobility, but she seemed reluctant to trust me. She was clearly frightened, acting as if someone were after her. She refused my offer to get help for her injuries, and I was concerned that she might have been involved in criminal activity."

"No, it's not like that," Bram explained, started to feel more in control. He was determined to find out what happened to her. "Where did you find her?"

"In a ravine at the base of the Zeugma Pass. She was just lying there, suspended in a thistle bush. I believe she fell from one of the trails above. It is a miracle that she was still alive. A few thorns tore at her skin, but no broken bones. She was unconscious when I found her, so I brought her here. She was only awake long enough to answer my questions briefly."

"She's an expert in the _white arts_," Bram explained. "She must have cast an enchantment to break her fall." His hand felt along her neck and head. "What's this? She has a fever."

"I noticed that earlier," Géorg confirmed. "I found the barbs of a corvusaur along her neck. I figured they caused the infection, which was why I stopped by my store to pick up some herbs."

"Let me see her," Matthias demanded, pushing his way to the bedside.

Bram inched over, but remained close. He took hold of one of her hands, his heart bursting with concern. He still had more questions. "Did she say who was pursuing her?"

"No," Géorg responded. "Like I said, we only spoke for a moment, and she said that she did not trust me enough to offer details."

"Well, she's in no condition to give us answers now," Matthias reported. "Her temperature's dangerously high, so first we'll need to bring down this fever. I bet you five coppers she's out from her own body heat."

"_What_? How can that be?" Géorg sputtered, his eyes wide. "She was fine just a couple of hours ago. What kind of fever comes on so fast?"

"It's magical," Matthias explained. "Only a wizard is capable of causing such an ailment."

Bram's heart sank, and he pressed his lips together in anger.

"You know something, don't you?" Matthias demanded.

Bram remained silent, but he had a good idea.

Matthias regarded him crossly. "What are you not telling me, boy? If you have something to say, you'd better spill it. This young woman's life may be in danger!"

Bram's hands clenched into fists, and he gritted his teeth. "If the poison is magical, I may know who's responsible." He choked on his words, holding back the fury that burned at his insides. "The fact that Géorg found her—laying helpless at the base of a ravine—tells me she might have been fleeing a known enemy. She must've lost her footing while on the Zeugma Pass."

"Tell me," Matthias pressed. "I want to know all about this so-called 'enemy'."

Bram frowned. "I can't be certain it's the same person, but the bastard I know is cunning and cruel. His name is Virgil Garvey, and he's well-trained in the black arts. He's also the kind of monster who'd trigger a magical illness in case his prisoner escaped."

Matthias scowled, and Bram sensed anger in his eyes. Wizards who attempted to use their powers to harm others were often hunted down and destroyed by their own kind. Most wizards had zero tolerance for such a diabolical misuse of magic.

The gray wizard put a gnarled hand on Bram's shoulder. "I don't know much about Virgil Garvey, but I do know one thing." His voice was once again calm and soothing, much different than it had been only several moments earlier. "This woman means a lot to you, and so you have my word that I'll do everything possible to save her."

Bram felt relief, and he backed away from Rosa's body so that Matthias could do his work.

The old wizard grabbed a small wooden table and stool, and started preparations. Meanwhile, Géorg fetched the supplies he needed—several herbs, a bowl, some utensils, a few vials, and a jug of water. Matthias took the bag from around his waist, which was filled with compartments containing unidentified compounds.

"Get me a cloth and dampen it," the wizard ordered.

Géorg used the water jug to dampen a small towel, and handed it to Matthias's outstretched hand.

The wizard spoke a few words, and a thin covering of frost appeared on the surface. "Start wiping down her body."

Bram followed his instructions, while Géorg glared back. "That was black magic!" he stated. "I thought you were a white wizard."

Matthias scoffed. "I'm a _gray_ wizard, dammit! Why is that always so hard to believe?"

Bram did not find it that hard. Rosa had once explained that wizards found it difficult to control both kinds of magic, because the tendency to favor black or white was based on the wizard's personality. It was known as an _affinity_, but the way Matthias' mood swung from one moment to the next must have granted him the ability to control both affinities. Ordinarily, people with mental disorders lacked the focus to learn magic, but Matthias had apparently overcome his handicap to learn not one, but _both _magical arts—making his talents extremely rare.

When he finished his herb pumice, Matthias added some water and a few of his own private ingredients. He then poured the putrid smelling paste into one of the vials. Bram had to forcibly contain his gag reflex.

The wizard snapped his fingers to get Géorg's attention. "I need a syringe."

The one-armed man rummaged through a series of drawers until he found one. He handed it to Matthias hastily. "It's not sterile."

The old wizard took it regardless, and spoke more words of magic. A small flame ignited at the end of his finger, which he used to disinfect the needle. He then filled it with the vile liquid and injected it into Rosa's arm. He touched the point of injection and cast another spell. Her arm turned a faint blue color as the serum wound and twirled through her bloodstream.

"Will she be okay?" Uriana asked. The room had nearly forgotten she was there.

"I think so," Matthias reassured her with a hopeful smile.

Suddenly, Rosa's body shook with convulsions. Matthias ran to her side and pulled her eyelids open. Her pupils were like pinpoints.

"Dammit!" he cursed. "Her body's rejecting the serum!"

Bram nearly doubled over in panic. He could not lose her, not now! "Do something!" he yelled.

Matthias stood up and spread his arms, whispering in the ancient language of magic. A blue glow surrounded his body, and the sandstone walls seemed to bend and swell from his power. An unseen force pulled Rosa off the bed, stretching her arms out wide and causing her back to arch. She slowly floated upward, turning around in mid-air. Something was causing all of her muscles to flex at once.

Matthias's face contorted with the pressure. "I … can't … grab hold … of it!" Sweat poured from his face, and Bram could see veins bulging around his neck. Rosa was clearly in pain, as her face twisting in agony.

"Stop it! You're hurting her!" Bram cried.

Whether Matthias heard or not, his magical link broke and the wizard collapsed on the floor. Rosa's body fell hard onto the mattress. Géorg tried to help the old wizard to his feet.

"It's much too powerful," Matthias breathed. "There's nothing I can do. The black magic doesn't exist—and yet it's _right there_, plain as day."

Rosa's face turned ashen and her muscles went limp. Bram put more water on the cloth and dampened her face. "You will _not_ die," he promised her, but his heart was breaking. He cursed himself for leaving her in Angkor to face the enemy by herself. He should have never left her side!

"Bram …." Uriana tugged on his arm. She must have seen the pain and frustration on his face, because her own eyes were filled with sympathy. She placed her hands on Rosa's chest. Rather than object, Bram stepped aside, allowing the young Conjurion from Ur to step in front. She began speaking words of magic, and a warm golden hue surrounded her body. Instead of the cold blue magic that emanated from Matthias's body, Uriana's was warm and soothing. Bram's heart welled up with emotion, as he was overcome with the sheer beauty. It did not take long before color returned to Rosa's face, and she returned to peaceful sleep.

"What did you do, child?" Matthias asked, sounding bewildered.

"I just wanted to help," Uriana explained, looking downcast.

Matthias approached and removed her bonnet. Géorg gasped as delicate white hair cascaded down her shoulders.

Bram wanted to object, but the damage was done. Matthias and Géorg knew that she was a Conjurion. Matthias replaced the bonnet on her head, tucking her hair back inside. She looked at him innocently. "You're a good girl, Yuri, and you did a very good thing just now."

"Was that—?"

"It was nothing, Mister Töller," Matthias told him. He leaned close to Géorg's face, and spoke in a low but forceful voice, "You saw _absolutely nothing_."

Géorg reluctantly nodded.

"Bram!" Matthias' sharp voice grabbed his attention. "Yuri has stopped the poison's major effects, but only by surrounding it with a very powerful container. It's so simple—I should've thought to do the same. At any rate, the magical toxin is still inside of her, and we'll need a skilled medical center to remove it completely. Unfortunately, we won't find one in Saladin. The nearest one I know is in the Kitezhian capital of Rungholt. That's where we planned to go in the first place, so I suggest we head out as soon as possible."

"How fast can your magic get us there?" Bram asked.

Matthias sighed. "Unfortunately, I'm not strong enough to take all of us at the same time. We'll need to go by viscar."

"That will take four or five days!" Bram argued. "We'll never make it in time!"

Géorg cleared his throat. "Umm—given as how you are in a great need, I will offer to take you with my sandskipper. Compared to a viscar, it will cut travel time in half. All I ask is that you cover the expenses."

"I will compensate you," Matthias promised.

"So will I," Bram added.

"Then it is settled," Géorg agreed. "I suggest we leave soon, before whoever is responsible for this dark magic catches up to us."

For once, everyone agreed.


	38. Chapter 3: Part XII

**.**

* * *

**Part XII**

_Evening of Tertius, Fourth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Bram and the others left Saladin as soon as they had gathered the necessary food and water, medical supplies, and protective clothing. Géorg had his sandskipper recharged by the wizard's guild, in preparation for for the long trip. Matthias could have cast a similar spell, but it would have required a day of rest, just to recover. Not because the spell was complex, but because certain magic tended to tax the body, and this spell in particular benefited from several wizards working in unison.

Géorg planned to follow the northwestern route through the desert to the Kitezhian border. From there, he would travel due north to the capital, Rungholt. His sandskipper was built of an alloy of metals to resist rust, and resembled a rectangular platform. It measured three by six spans, with lips along the sides as long as a man's forearm. The front part of the platform had a larger lip to cut down on wind resistance, as well as a glass pane that extended to the height of the pilot. There was only a single seat in front for Géorg to operate the vehicle, which was positioned beside a series of levers and controls.

The others sat in back. Rosa slept under woolen blankets that protected her against the sun. Bram tended to her, while Uriana took a nap by his side. The bonnet once again concealed her strikingly white hair. Matthias sat on the opposite side of the platform, keeping watch for spawn. After a few hours, Bram joined him.

"So where'd you find her?" Matthias posed unexpectedly, before Bram even had a chance to sit down. The wizard's voice was gruff, and he pointed his wooden staff toward Uriana.

"It's none of your business," Bram responded, fearing another of the wizard's mood swings. He doubted he would ever get used to them, and thought it best to dodge the nosy inquiry. Now that Matthias had seen Uriana's hair, there was no way Bram could stick to his previous story about being father and daughter. The old wizard knew exactly where she had come from. Clearly, the nature of his question was not so much "where" Bram had found her, but "how" and "under what circumstance". Bram turned away from the old man's gaze, hoping he would drop the subject.

Unfortunately, the gray wizard did not give up. His eyes were filled with confrontation. "Oh, I think it is! I saw the red sky above the Mountains of Ur on my way to Saladin. Should I assume you had something to do with that?"

Bram remained calm and composed, watching the sand dunes go by in the distance. "I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Cut the crap, soldier!"

Bram's head whipped around, and his instincts lit up. He was almost ready to pounce.

Matthias chuckled, and the side of his mouth upturned in a smug grin. "Oh, yes, I was right!" he gloated. "I wasn't born yesterday, my boy. The battle-worn face, the athletic build, the scar on your side—you're from Angkor, you're a soldier, and you've seen a number of battles. Haven't you?"

"So what if I have?" Bram returned, peeved that he had let his guard down and given the old wizard confirmation by his own body language.

Matthias dropped his grin, and his face became hard as stone. "A man of few words, eh? I wonder if I should look inside the sack that you protect so covetously."

Bram glared back, speaking with words that were as sharp as the edge of his sword. "I wouldn't recommend it."

Matthias scoffed. "Perhaps not right now, then," he muttered while meeting the deadly gaze. "That's fine, because I'm patient, you see? I've got questions, and sooner or later, I'm gonna find the answers!"

Bram said nothing. Besides, it would not benefit him to reveal what he knew about the sunstones, especially if Matthias planned to go his own way later. Information was dangerous, and he knew how far King Richard was willing to go in his insane pursuit for power. The only person he could trust to act would be the Kitezhian king, Henrich Brandt.

Of course, the story would be difficult to tell. Sooner or later, Henrich would learn that Bram was a Gnostic Knight. After all the terrible acts the Knights performed during the War, the Kitezhian people despised them. The few years of peace were hardly enough to erase the painful memories. Bram would need to figure out a more convincing way to convince King Brandt to trust him. If he failed, Angkor would attack eventually, and Kitezh would once again feel their wrath. King Richard commanded a formidable military machine, and would surely succeed in taking a second sunstone. Bram could not let that happen.

He considered this burden as he stared out into the desert. It looked peaceful against the backdrop of a setting sun. The sandskipper ran quickly along the contoured landscape, with yellow dunes flowing past at great speed. Even so, it was nothing compared to his experience flying a thousand spans above the desert. On his airship, the seemingly vast wasteland passed by in a couple of hours. In stark contrast, the sandskipper would take until the following afternoon to reach the border.

By nightfall, the desert had given way to some northerly features, such as short trees and brown grasses. Further north, the trees would grow larger, and the grasses greener. Géorg veered off the main path when he caught site of a small stream, beside which he and the others set up camp. They took turns keeping watch, and set off at first light. For hours, no one said a thing. Each had his own reasons for traveling north, and no one wished to share. The deal had been made, and the less they knew about each other's business, the better.

Bram stayed by Rosa's side, monitoring her body to look for any renewed signs of fever. Matthias had used his magic to put her in a kind of stasis, so that her body would not require as much food or water. She seemed at peace, and Bram was grateful.

When they broke for lunch, he decided to spend some time with Uriana. He told her about his youth in the village of Providence, about growing up, and going as school. At the same time, he carefully and painfully redacted any mention of Kane. As they laughed and reminisced, it made the long trip more bearable.

Uriana talked about her birthday party a couple of months back, describing it in such elaborate detail that it almost seemed as if she had never left her homeland. She talked about her friends and her family as if they were all still alive. Her spirit and innocence was striking. Bram had forgotten what it meant to live like a child, in a world where the past and the future were less relevant than the present. At times, it felt like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but Uriana lived from one moment to the next in bliss. He almost envied her.

As they approached the Kitezhian border, Géorg stopped his sandskipper. "Bram, you will want to see this."

Bram joined the one-armed man at the front of the craft, and followed his index finger to where it pointed at a tall spruce. On its trunk was a wanted poster, containing a perfectly sketched rendition of the wanted criminal, Abraham Morrison.

"Aha!" Matthias shouted, having leaned forward to see for himself. "So you _are_ a criminal!"

Bram stared him down, but kept his face composed. "Settle down, it's not like that."

"Like the Burning Pits, it's not!" Matthias countered. "So what did you do? Defect from the military? Oh, I know! You kidnapped the girl—"

"No!" Bram stated forcefully. He was quickly losing his patience. "You listen, and listen good. I've borne witness to some terrible crimes in my life, but nothing like what I've seen over the last few days. King Richard has hatched a nefarious scheme that's beyond anything I've ever seen, and when I wouldn't play along, he sentenced me to death. As for Uriana, he wants her dead, too. That's why I intervened. If I hadn't, she'd be dead already!"

Bram hardly believed he had just verbalized all the things that had been stirring in his head. Both men stared back at him, looking like they had heard the ravings of a madman.

"And you expect us to believe you?" Matthias challenged.

Bram searched quickly for an answer. The old wizard's eyes were filled with intensity, while Géorg's were pools of doubt, locked on him and awaiting an answer. Thinking of nothing else, Bram blurted out the truth. "Kitezh is their next target! I've been traveling north to warn King Brandt."

Matthias and Géorg stared back at him, still wearing looks of bewilderment.

"Don't you see?" Bram continued. "King Brandt needs to understand the threat before it's too late! Angkor intends to return to war!"

Matthias started cackling. "Boy, that's rich! I've heard some whoppers in my day, but this one's beyond reproach!"

"It's not a lie!" Bram growled. "I don't expect you to trust me, but I can prove it to you, just as soon as we reach the capital!"

Matthias took his staff and thrust it into Bram's chest, sending him reeling backward. "It's too late for that, my Angkorian friend." He turned to Géorg. "I say we leave him here and take the kid. She'll be safer with us."

"Over my dead body," Bram threatened. He would never allow Uriana out of his sight. Damn the old wizard for picking a fight, now of all times! Even so, the final decision ultimately came down to the pilot of the sandskipper. Bram looked pleadingly to Géorg, who appeared to be formulating one.

Bram's heart raced. If both men forced him off the craft, he would lose his only transportation, and be stuck at the Kitezhian border, a hundred leagues from the capital. There was no way he would make it all the way there, with Uriana to care for, and Rosa's unconscious body.

Géorg seemed torn, but after a few moments he finally spoke. "I say we honor our agreement." Bram let out a deep breath. He had never felt so relieved.

"What?" Matthias exclaimed.

"Call it a feeling," Géorg rationalized, "from one warrior to another … but I believe him."

Bram breathed a little easier, thankful beyond words. Géorg ended with a warning, "Do not make me regret my decision."

"Just wonderful!" Matthias croaked. "You expect me to sit next to a wanted criminal? Perhaps I'll just go my own way, then!"

Bram was happy to see him go, but a small voice called out from behind him.

"Matthias …." Uriana had crawled forward to join the dueling adults. "I don't want you to go."

The old wizard's irate face softened. He looked to Bram, then back to Uriana.

"Please?" she begged.

The cantankerous wizard finally relented. "Oh, all right. I might as well save my magic. After all, I already paid for the damned charge on the sandskipper."

Uriana smiled. Bram looked down at her, and put an arm on her shoulder. The miracle child seemed to have no end to her talents. With one innocent plea, she had successfully doused the fire raging under Matthias' beard.

"So what now?" Géorg asked. "Are we ready to move forward?"

"Not so fast," Matthias returned. "There's still the matter of the Border Patrol, as well as any other traveler who might have seen posters like this one. I don't want to be detained for abetting a criminal."

Matthias referred to the unit that Angkor had set up following the War. They were meant as a means to cut down on refugees trying to emigrate from conquered countries, but it also served for Angkor to keep close watch over their neighbors.

"He's right," Bram admitted. "The Border Patrol circles their perimeters several times per day. If they see us, they'll likely insist on a search. Fortunately, they're easy to avoid, if we wait for one of them to pass before crossing the border. As for other travelers, it would be best if we avoid the major roads."

Matthias agreed. While Géorg parked the sandskipper safely off the main road, the old wizard used a magic spell of invisibility to hide himself and Bram so that they could sneak to a good vantage point. They found a great view of the surrounding valley from atop a nearby hill. After some amount of waiting, three Angkorian soldiers on viscar mounts rode across the valley. They dressed in full plate armor, with swords at their sides and bows on their back. After they disappeared, Bram and Matthias returned to the sandskipper.

They continued north using an old road that was less traveled. Even so, the risk of encountering others would increase the closer they got to the Kitezhian capital. Bram kept his face hidden from passersby, but he noted that Matthias kept an eye on him the whole time.

Kitezh was a mountainous region, littered with hills and valleys. This time of year, the northern air was cold and damp. At first, it was welcome relief from the arid plains of the desert, but as they rode further, they needed to don extra clothing. Bram put on a woolen pullover and made sure that Uriana did the same. He also covered Rosa with extra blankets.

It was afternoon on the second day since leaving Saladin, when Bram crawled to the front of the sandskipper with Géorg.

"I just wanted to see how you're doing up here," he began, in an attempt at small talk.

Géorg nodded. "Nothing new to report, Bram. We should reach the capital before sunset."

Bram had planned to say more. "I was thinking … I never had a chance to thank you for before. I owe you for that … and for everything."

Géorg shook his head. "It is nothing."

"No, it's not. You've done so much for me, yet I'm a stranger. I just wanted to know why."

Géorg sighed. His eyes stayed fixated on the landscape in front of him. "I suppose I am just tired of doing nothing."

"What do you mean?" Bram asked.

Géorg stayed silent for a few more moments, perhaps thinking about how to respond. "Like I mentioned earlier, I used to be a warrior. I suppose I still am … at heart. In fact, I used to fight in the Kitezhian army, up until my injury." He held up the stump below his right shoulder. "I have not been back in Kitezh since it happened. I think, perhaps, I was waiting for the right reason to revisit my homeland."

Bram lowered his head, realizing that he and Géorg had been on opposite sides during the War. The knowledge was a heavy blow. Here he was, receiving charity from a man who had been his bitter enemy only a few years ago. He wondered how close he had come to fighting against him directly.

"I don't understand," Bram admitted. "Why stand up for me now?" He was not sure he wanted the answer, but something inside of him needed to know. "Why help me, knowing that we had once been enemies?"

Géorg tore his eyes off the scenery to regard Bram squarely in the face. "Agreeing to help you was not my first impulse, Mister Morrison. But I have come to understand that not every citizen of Angkor is my enemy. Treating you like a human being is one of the ways I heal and move forward."

Bram stared back, mystified by the profound answer.

Géorg took another deep breath. "You want to hear my story, is that it?"

Bram simply nodded. He could not verbalize why this man's past was suddenly so important, but he wanted to listen, hoping it would help him to understand.

"Long ago, I lost something very dear to me," Géorg explained. "Not just my arm, but something even more precious—a woman, for whom I cared very deeply. She was a nurse, and although she was Kitezhian, she did not care for which side a person fought. She treated all patients the same, regardless of origin. I think when I saw how badly you were in need, and how much Rosa meant to you, I felt like the woman I loved would have wanted me to help you. So if you really want to know the answer … _that_ is why I stood up for you."

Bram stared at Géorg in both wonder and humility. He could have met any other man, and never would have had the same kind of connection. But Géorg in particular had a history that resonated with Bram's situation. It was not just good fortune, it was fate, and he was overcome with it.

"Thank you," he said humbly.

Géorg's face turned serious. "At the same time," he cautioned, "do not think that I trust you. It is also important to me to return to my homeland after all these years. I believe it is a chapter of my life that I must close. However, I must reserve the right to change my mind, if anything you claimed ever fails to check out."

Bram nodded in understanding.

"What about you, Wizard?" Géorg called out, turning his head further back to call on Matthias.

"Eh? What do you want?" the old wizard snapped.

"Do not pretend you did not overhear us talking," Géorg shot back with a grin.

"Well, you were plenty loud enough," Matthias complained. "If it's privacy you wanted, there's a thing called _whispering_."

"That's not what he meant." Bram attempted to speak on Géorg's behalf. "We each have our reasons for traveling to Rungholt, so what about you? Didn't you mention something about finding your daughter—?"

"She's none of your damned business!" Matthias growled.

Bram shut his mouth. He did not need another confrontation with the wizard. "Forget it," he said, feeling sorry he ever brought it up. "We'll stay out of your business."

The look on Matthias' face changed, as if he were suddenly aware of his own response. He looked remorseful, and a bit sad. "No, wait, I … I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I've just been on edge, that's all."

Feeling generous, Bram invited the old man to sit up front beside him and Géorg. Matthias crawled forward to join them.

As he did, Bram gazed backward at Uriana, who was taking a nap. "I care a lot about her, too, you know," he admitted. "I know it's not the same as being her father, but right now, I'm all she has … and that means something to me."

Matthias wore a long face. "My daughter's name is Angela. She's seventeen. I named her after my wife, because … because she died giving birth. As much as I tried, I couldn't save her. My magic failed me."

An empty feeling formed in Bram's gut. It seemed all three men had all lost loved ones, but Matthias' story was especially heartbreaking.

The old man continued. "My daughter's always been a free spirit, making her own decisions—just like her father." He paused, looking like he had trouble containing his emotions. "Last year, she met a traveler. He came to Vineta with some kind of traveling circus. He was a musician, and she met with him after the show. I sensed what I thought was a romance between them, and I might have … _overreacted_, a bit. I did a few things I shouldn't have to chase him away—being a protective father, and all. I thought I'd seen the last of him, but a week ago he came back to town. Apparently, he and Angela had been secretly corresponding over the past year. They made plans and she … she ran away with him. I've been tracking her ever since, and sometimes … it takes all my willpower, just to stop worrying."

After hearing the story, Bram felt a bit guilty for reacting to the old man's temperament. Matthias had his own problems, and until a few days ago, Bram would never have understood that pain. Now, he understood all too well.

"Bram!" Géorg pointed an index finger out in front. "Can you see that?"

Bram scanned the northern horizon. "Those look like airships," he said at the small specks in the distance. He felt his heart nearly stop. "Géorg, we have to get this craft to the top of that hill over there to get a better view!"

Géorg looked where Bram pointed. "That is very risky. These devices do not climb hills too well, and it looks pretty steep."

"Find a way. There's no doubt that those are Angkorian. We need to see what they're up to."

Matthias helped Bram to secure the supplies as the sandskipper tipped along the steep contours of the hill. Uriana stirred in her sleep, and came forward to see what was going on. Géorg tried to keep the craft as level as possible. It took a few minutes to reach a good vantage point, but once he did, Bram saw the landscape ahead of him perfectly.

"There's the capital," Géorg announced before catching his breath in surprise.

Uriana shrieked. Bram squeezed her hand as they both watched in horror.

"What the hell are they doing?" Matthias exclaimed.

"They're attacking," Bram answered. "Holy Gaia, help us—they're bombing the city!"

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**End of Chapter 3**

_Thank you for reaching this point in my story!_

_It means a lot to me to hear from my readers,_

_So please leave a review_

_-Jeff Howard-_

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_._


	39. Chapter 4: Part I

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**Chapter 4: The Second Fall of Kitezh**

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**Part I**

_Morning of Diapente, Sixth Day of Autumnmoon_

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Injured and disoriented, scouring through dust and debris, Józef Brandt crawled on his hands and knees amid searing flames and smoke. Something held him back, pulled at his waist, but he wrenched himself free. He coughed uncontrollably as hot and blackened ash stung the inside of his lungs. He retched until his throat was raw, leaving him weakened and limp, and something once again grabbed at his waist.

"Please—my prince, we must get out!" a voice beckoned urgently.

"Remove your hands!" Józef roared, vainly trying to claw his way forward. His eyes watered from motes of soot, but he groped forward blindly in search for his companion. "I have to find her!"

He knew that somewhere inside the wreckage, below fallen columns of stone and mortar. If he did not act fast, she would be burned alive. He was terrified, and his heart wrenched at the mere thought. He was singularly focused on finding her, but the hands behind him kept on pulling him back. Angry and frustrated, he tried to wriggle away, until a pile of bricks fell from above, landing on the back of his head. He collapsed, unable to work his arms and legs.

He thought back to only moments ago, when he had been casually strumming the lute, his favorite instrument. He lay comfortably atop a large velvet pillow, while she rested peacefully at his feet, savoring the soothing music. It was among the most tranquil settings in the palace, known to many as The Garden. It had abundant plants and flowers in colorful pottery, and a large window made of rose quartz, which let in a gently diffused sunbeam.

She gazed upward at a mural on the ceiling, where a painter had created a botanical scene depicting twining vines and vegetation. Cascading water from a marble fountain in the room's center created splashing sounds, adding a sweet accompaniment to the lute's soothing strings. She told him it made her feel close to home, even though she had left it far behind.

Józef had been the one to help her leave. She had once told him that she yearned to see the world beyond her small Vinetan village, but her only obstacle was an unwilling and overprotective father. His mastery of the Magical Arts helped him to keep an ever-watchful eye over her every move.

Józef understood her story better than most others. He also felt imprisoned by his father, but in a very different way. He was the son of Henrich Brandt, who ruled as king of Kitezh. Józef was the only direct heir, which came with an obligation to succeed. Even so, he had never aspired to rule a kingdom, and he dreaded the responsibility. Instead, he wanted independence, to become a musician and share his talents with the world.

His father's guard had kept tight watch over him at all hours of the day, but these wardens were no match for his precociousness. He managed to escape them on several occasions, stowing away on seaward vessels en route to distant countries. Once there, he would perform to those he met along the way. On one such trip, he passed through the nation of Vineta and joined with a group of entertainers as they performed in small woodland villages, sharing music and mirth.

On the night before his caretakers caught him, he met a young girl who later became his beloved companion. It was during a musical performance at her village. Her beauty and free spirit captivated him, even before he heard her plight. He watched her as he moved his fingers across the strings of his lute, and yearned for her company.

After the show, they wandered to a private setting, where they shared their most personal wishes. He told her of the places he had traveled, while her eyes sparkled with envy. She begged him to take her with him, and he felt as if fortune moved him to act in the heat of the moment. He held her hand and promised to show her places so wondrous that bards would tell tales of their adventures. They sealed the promise with a kiss, which he savored like none other. Sadly, later that night, before he could take her from the village, his guardians caught up to him. Against his angry protests, they placed him in a Kitezhian bound ship the very next day.

For almost a year, she occupied his thoughts and dreams. He obsessed over having her nearby, and spent months planning his next escape. When the day finally came, he stowed away on a westbound sea vessel to the Vinetan capital. From there, he played on the streets for copper pennies until he could purchase a guide through the dense Vinetan forests. Though his father's men moved quickly, he kept ahead while muddling his trail.

When he finally caught up to the girl, he found that she had grown during that year. She had also arranged an escape from her father, and chance had somehow put them on the same path. It was his chance to finally be with her! Together, they headed back to the capital, where his guardians were waiting. It did not take long for Józef to convince them that he would only return home if the girl came with him.

That had been just a few weeks earlier, and neither of them counted the days. Each held onto their times together, as if each moment contained within it a thousand emotions. She was Freedom—his Muse—the Love of his Life. He played the song he wrote for her, while in The Garden, thinking of everything and of nothing. The rays of filtered sunlight through the rose quartz window warmed his face, and he smiled.

He had just completed the second verse of his sonata when the floor shook, jarring him from his pleasant interlude. He ceased playing and turned toward the window. Through the quartz, he saw nothing more than a clear and tranquil sky, with particles of dust drifting lazily in between the sunrays.

"What was that?" she had asked him.

"I do not know," he had responded.

She stood up and headed to the window to get a closer look. Pointing to an object flying overhead, she called out in alarm. Józef remembered turning to face her, but he was blinded by a momentary flash of light. The window blew inward, along with the adjoining wall, sending thousands of stone and mineral fragments across the room. He ran toward his beloved companion, but a second explosion threw him to the opposite wall, taking the wind right out of him. Fire penetrated through empty spaces, and smoke crept along the sides of the walls, coating the air with blackened ash.

That was the moment he first felt someone grab him from behind and pull him toward the doorway. The blast left him disoriented, but as his mind cleared, he reached out for her blindly.

"Quickly!" he cried. "She is in here somewhere!"

Suddenly, shapes resembling people appeared from behind and surrounded him. They lifted him in the air, carrying him out of the room against his screaming protests. He forced his eyes open, but they stung from ashes that floated through the air like newly hatched mayflies. They buzzed in his ears, until he realized the sound had actually come from reverberating explosions echoing throughout the palace.

"Angela!" he choked through cracked lips and a parched throat, but his tearful pleas remained unanswered.


	40. Chapter 4: Part II

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**Part II**

_Morning of Terminus, Seventh Day of Autumnmoon_

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The rains began on Diapente, fifth day of the week. Before reaching the Kitezhian capital, Bram donned the clothes of a Kitezhian traveler, which included a sheepskin tunic and boots, a heavy coat made of wolf and sable furs, and a woolen cap. He then helped Géorg to find a spot to hide the sandskipper, until he could figure out what to do next. He found a place behind a limestone escarpment, about a league away from the city, far away from the Angkorian invasion.

Before he left, he looked upon Rosa, whose condition remained stable within her enchanted stasis. Her face looked peaceful, but he was crushed, knowing the magical poison still lingered inside her body. For the time being, it was contained by Uriana's magic, but no one knew for how long. Without proper care, she would eventually weaken, and he worried about the long term effects it would have on her body.

Anger and regret burned inside of him. He felt responsible, because he had agreed to involve her in his conflict. He thought back to the night of their fight, and how she had insisted on being a part of his life. It was his fault for being so distant, and he wished he could have addressed the issues tearing apart their relationship earlier. He had had plenty of opportunities to make peace with her and start over, but he had squandered those chances, because he was afraid to confront the truth.

For a moment, he had considered pushing her further away. He did not know how to open himself in a way that would not detract from his duties as a Gnostic. And yet, the Knighthood had betrayed him, while Rosa never left his side. He had come so close to losing her that night, but now, at the cusp of a renewed relationship, an even greater tragedy threatened to take her from him forever.

His insides seethed as he considered what Virgil Garvey must have done to her. He had to be responsible. Somehow, he seemed to have a hand in all of King Richard's dirty jobs. Even the genocide at Ur had his stink upon it. Bram squeezed his eyes shut, holding back the urge to scream his frustrations. Someday, he would make Virgil _pay_ for what he had done!

It took him by surprised when Matthias tapped him on the shoulder. He had been watching Rosa for quite some time, his thoughts clouded with longing and guilt. But at the old wizard's prodding, he quickly spun around. Matthias hardly flinched. He reminded Bram that time was short, and they had come to Rungholt for a reason. Matthias still sought his missing daughter, while Bram had come to plead with King Brandt, and hopefully convince him of an oncoming attack from Angkor. Unfortunately, it was already too late. Kitezh's capital was already under siege, and it was unclear if King Brandt had even made it out alive.

While Géorg remained behind with the sandskipper to watch over Rosa and Uriana, Matthias took Bram to observe the city from atop a nearby hill. The wizard used a spell of invisibility to hide them from the circling airships. Bram counted twenty-three hovering overhead—nearly half of the total Angkorian fleet. Among these included a galleon-class airship called the Juggernaut. It was too large to land, so it remained airborne, casting a fearsome shadow over the city.

During the War's latter years, Bram had occasionally traveled to the Juggernaut to meet with the generals. The mammoth craft had a landing pad large enough to support the Heron, along with several others of similar size. It dwarfed all other airships, and to the people of Rungholt, it might have looked like one of the moons themselves had been angered and now vengefully glowered above them. There was no way the Kitezhian people could have held off their enemy. Bram had no doubt that Angkor had already recovered the sunstone.

The siege lasted a full day. It started with waves of firebombs, followed by footmen dropping down from their airships, bypassing Rungholt's walled defenses. The Kitezhians had no warning, and could not withstand the sudden onslaught. After a few brief skirmishes inside the city walls, the Kitezhians once again succumbed to the Angkorian military.

By Terminus—the sixth day of the week—the fleet departed. Bram presumed they left with their bounty, though a rather large ground unit remained. From the hilltop, he had limited visibility. He had to find a way inside the city, and learn the status of King Brandt.

"You're sure your daughter's in there?" Bram asked the gray wizard. It was his way of making sure that Matthias was on board.

"Of course I'm sure," Matthias barked back. "She wears the pendant I gave her as a child. I have the other half, which always points me in her direction. Right now, it's telling me she's close."

"Does it give you a specific location inside the city where we can find her?"

Matthias shook his head. "It's not that accurate, but once we get closer, I'll have a better idea."

Bram considered sneaking inside, but Angkor had taken control of Rungholt's fortifications. It was likely to discourage outside forces from attempting to take back the city. There was no way Bram or Matthias would get any closer, if exposed in plain sight.

"How well protected are we under your magic?" he asked Matthias.

"If you're asking me to hold an invisibility cloak while lifting the two of us over the city walls, then forget it!" the wizard snapped. "My strength isn't what it used to be, and besides—I'm sure they'll have wizards of their own who can detect my magic if I use it to enter the city."

Bram searched for another way. A single careless mistake would cost him everything.

"I have an idea," he stated. "I know we've only known each other for a few days, but I'll need you to trust me."

Matthias rolled his eyes. "Out with it, boy—we haven't got time for platitudes."

Bram countered the wizard's impertinent look with a stone cold visage. "When we met, you recognized me as an Angkorian soldier. That wasn't far off. In fact, I spent almost ten years in their air fleet until I was betrayed. I've since turned against my kingdom. I won't go into details, but I used to be a Gnostic."

Matthias nodded knowingly. "I suspected as much. You don't act like a civilian—that's for sure. But let me make one thing perfectly clear. I don't give a damn about your history. Whether you're a paragon or a sociopath, it's your own business. Just know that I'll do whatever it takes to find my daughter."

Bram eyed the wizard carefully. He had not forgotten that a couple of days earlier, Matthias had suggested kicking him off the craft and leaving him on the side of the road. The old wizard was shrewd, and Bram was not about to trust him fully. He had to make a convincing argument, knowing that Matthias would not accept anything short of an honest and bullet-proof plan.

"I'll get right to the point," Bram stated. "The guards at the gates won't know that I've defected. Gnostics have high-ranking authority, and it grants me the privilege to demand entrance to the city. They'll have no choice but to admit me."

Matthias looked at him wryly. "And I suppose it might be more difficult to pull off, if you're in the company of a Vinetan wizard?"

Bram nodded. "Not if I present you as my _captive_."

The spell-caster chuckled. "How cliché. And you think they'll buy it?"

"It won't matter," Bram assured with a frighteningly sober look. "I told you. I outrank them."

Matthias grunted in what might have been half-enjoyment and half-derision. "Very well, then. We haven't got much time, and I don't have any better ideas. Let's do it."


	41. Chapter 4: Part III

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**Part III**

_Night of Terminus, Seventh Day of Autumnmoon_

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Ever since his pardon, Cedric spent his days working long hours on his Zounds design. Long after his staff returned to their homes and families, he stayed late, striving to bring his project to the next phase. He would end each day only when overcome with exhaustion, sleep a few hours, and begin anew the next morning. Besides enabling unprecedented progress, the work kept his mind from getting distracted with other worries.

He had plenty of concerns, not least of which was Rosa. He only wished he had taken the time to think things through. Perhaps then, he could have intervened before Angkor labeled her an enemy of the state. Days had passed since her escape, and he had yet to hear of any news. He had good connections inside the palace, and as far as they knew, she was still at large. Could she have made it to Bram? And if so, would she dare to support his treachery? Or worse—would he attempt to harm her, if she stood against him?

Cedric struggled with these scenarios. Although he had been first to question Bram's motives, he knew his conclusions were biased. He distrusted Bram for the wrong reasons, clouded by his feelings for Rosa. It might not have been appropriate at the time, but now he wished he had done more.

Besides that, he was still bothered by Rosa's words. She had been so sure of a conspiracy within the palace, backed up by what he had witnessed between Virgil Garvey and the mysterious Gnostic Knight. He had acted on instinct to help her escape, nearly landing him in prison. Fortunately, King Richard had had mercy on him and revealed the real story. Cedric had worked with Richard for years, and trusted his sound judgment. When the king claimed to have direct knowledge of Bram's betrayal, Cedric believed him. But the question still remained. What if Richard was wrong?

Cedric tried hard to cast his doubts aside. Rosa and Bram had chosen their own paths, but he still had a job to do. Since his discussion with the king, many things had changed, and Zounds was needed now more than ever. Angkor stood at the brink of war.

Several days earlier, news arrived that revolutionaries backed by the Kitezhian government had launched an attack on the northern Angkorian settlements. Hundreds of civilians lost their lives as the enemy burned and pillaged their villages. Before Angkor could strike back, the revolutionaries were said to have disappeared into the mountains.

The capital demanded a swift and immediate response. In a speech at noon the next day, Richard proclaimed that Angkor would close its borders, as well as the gates surrounding the capital city. He deployed military soldiers to gather merchants and foreign visitors into groups, based on their country of origin. Vinetans were sent westward, back to their homeland, and those from the Southern Continent were deported using all available ships.

However, those of known Kitezhian descent were apprehended and interrogated without exception. The government suspected insurgents, with roots extending deep inside the capital city. The situation was unprecedented, and it called for extreme action. Cedric had no knowledge of a kingdom ever making such an order—at least, not in his lifetime. But at the same time, the citizens of Angkor seemed to feel safer knowing that something was being done.

Fortunately, none of Cedric's staff were implicated with Kitezhian backgrounds—at least, none that he knew. Furthermore, few within his circle even associated with those who did. Most Kitezhians lived in the surrounding bergs, as second generation families or as newly established immigrants. Cedric did not expect the government to find any conspirators inside the walls of the capital, but then again, he had never suspected that Bram Morrison would defect to the enemy. The thought of having spies as potential neighbors troubled him greatly. After all, rumors promised more terrors to follow, and no one wanted to risk having insurgents plotting attacks from the inside.

As with many others, Cedric grew suspicious of those around him. He looked over his shoulder, constantly fearing an attack. It drained him emotionally and robbed him of rational thoughts. His grew paranoid, paralyzed with doubt and uncertainty, until he forcefully pushed these thoughts aside. The only way to keep sane was to work late on his design, and focus his energy on progressing the Zounds program. At least, King Richard would be pleased to hear that a functional prototype would be ready in as few as a couple of weeks.

With so much accomplished, Cedric decided to celebrate. Before heading to bed, he went to one of his manor's many drawing rooms, and poured himself a glass of vintage brandy. He sat in his reclining chair, letting his body sink into its plush cushions. With brandy in hand, he settled down to a few pages of his favorite book.

He enjoyed the silence and privacy. His manor house was dark and quiet, with only the flame that crackled in his hearth, and the clock that ticked and tocked upon his mantle. From his right side, he heard the light footsteps of his butler, an elderly gentleman named Erik. Cedric saw him slowly emerge from his periphery. Without looking up, he extended his drinking glass.

After hearing a small splash of liquid, he craned his arm back inward and consumed a sip. Nothing tasted better than aged brandy. His mouth filled with flavors of oak and smoke, coating his throat with a gentle tingle. He expected to hear the footsteps retreat, but they did not.

"You may go now, Erik," he muttered, preferring some solitude before another day of grueling hard work.

Instead of acknowledging the request, the butler cleared his throat anxiously. "Actually, sir, you have a visitor awaiting in the foyer."

Cedric clenched his glass. What kind of a person chose to visit at such an hour? It was a personal grievance, but Cedric did not want to direct his anger at the poor butler. Even so, he felt the need to be firm. "I've told you before, I don't accept visitors this late at night."

"The gentleman says his name is 'Mister Eckerd', sir," Erik responded. "He claims to be a colleague of yours. He was … quite distressed, and refused to leave when I asked. He claims the matter is urgent, and that you should speak to him at once …?" The butler trailed off, raising his tone slightly, as if posing a question. He clearly awaited a decision on whether to send the man away.

Mason Eckerd was one of Cedric's oldest acquaintances. He was a long time business partner, since long before Cedric had become Grand Craftsman. When they first met, Mason was a trader and importer of machinery, which Cedric used to build engines for sea vessels. After the world turned to air flight, Mason shifted his business to keep up with the times. He continued to be one of Cedric's best suppliers, and they conducted business regularly. Mason had even introduced Cedric to his family.

Even so, the relationship was strictly professional. Cedric had never spent time getting to know Mason on a personal level. He never learned the man's background or history, nor did he meet with him outside of the office. It was therefore highly unusual to receive a home visit, especially one so late at night.

"Very well, Erik, send him in," Cedric commanded.

"Yes, sir," the butler replied before leaving.

Cedric rose from his chair and returned the book to its shelf. He was too tired to make much progress with it, anyway. He walked to the large gilded mirror that rested behind his mantle clock and attempted to make himself look more presentable. He used his fingers to comb through his hair and beard, wishing he had his oils handy, and brushed his hands across his clothes to smooth out the wrinkles. Since he did not usually allow guests so late, he was not prepared to look his best. A few moments' worth of primping would have to suffice.

When he heard Erik and Mason enter the room, he turned around, ready to greet his unexpected guest. But he was horrified by what he saw. His smile faded as he looked upon someone who appeared as if he had slept in a gutter. Mason's face was coarse and unshaven, and his hair was disheveled. His clothes were caked in mud, and his eyes were red and bloodshot. The stench of old garbage wafted from his direction.

Cedric had to forcefully hold back the urge to use his thumb and forefinger to plug his nose. He noticed he was gawking, too, which made him feel embarrassed. Wiping away the stupid look from his face, he addressed his butler.

"That's all, Erik. Please leave us to discuss our business."

The butler nodded politely and left the room.

When he was gone, Cedric's face returned to one of shock and concern. "Dear Gaia, Mason! What happened to you?"

The man hobbled to the nearest chair and collapsed. Cedric winced at seeing Mason's filthy garments come in contact with his furniture.

"I have been through the Burning Pits and back," he stated in a weak voice. "Yesterday, a group of armed men went through my house and took my wife. I only found out because my grandson ran to my shop to warn me."

Cedric's eyes went wide, and he nearly fell over. He grabbed the mantle above his fireplace to steady himself. "What? Armed men? You mean insurgents?"

Mason waved away Cedric's notions. "No, they were _our_ men, Cedric. _Angkorians_. They came to arrest me because …." He hesitated and bit his lip.

Cedric glared at him. "Because of _what_?"

Mason's shoulders slumped, but his eyes looked up as if begging for help. "I never revealed much about my past, my friend, but the truth is that I originally emigrated from Kitezh."

Cedric's heart sank. Of course … King Richard's mandate meant that all Kitezhian men and women were to be apprehended and interrogated, without exception. But before he could jump to conclusions, Mason spoke up.

"I came here because I had nowhere else to turn. They have chased me all over this blessed city, from the sea ports to the sewers—and I am out of options. See my eyes, Cedric? You cannot possibly believe that I was part of these attacks! I love this country, and have lived here most of my life. I am _not_ the enemy!"

Cedric was crushed to hear that Mason had faced these horrors, but he did not understand why he chose to flee from the authorities. The king's orders were supposed to identify potential suspects of the Kitezhian raid, not to detain decent people. He wondered why Mason had not simply cooperated.

"What about your family?" he asked instead, concerned first for their safety. "Where are they now?"

Mason turned grim. "I escaped with my two sons and grandson. We split into groups to confuse our pursuers long enough for the women to escape. There's a region along the coast where the patrols have a gap in their security. My daughter-in-laws and grand-daughter took this route, and planned to follow the coastline outside of city limits. We know an older couple with a farm halfway to Sakor. If they waited until nightfall, they should have made it. Gaia, help them …."

Mason's head sank, and his voice trailed off. He was barely keeping it together. Cedric felt sympathetic, but while the story was greatly disturbing, it still did not make any sense.

"Mason, you're telling me that your family went through all of this, just to flee from the authorities? And you don't even know if they made it out of the city?"

Cedric's colleague nodded slowly. "I sent them off, but I chose to remain. I will not leave without my wife!"

"Then you must know where she is!"

Mason shook his head. "Not exactly, but I have an idea. They must have taken her to one of those _camps_, out in the western countryside."

Cedric had heard of camps that had been built to handle the overflow of prisoners. If Mason's family had tried to evade the authorities, it might explain why his wife was taken there.

"So, let me get this straight," Cedric stated. "Law enforcement apprehended your wife, and you think they've taken her to one of the camps outside the city? If that's the case, why not just turn yourself in? They'll have to release you both eventually, once they realize you're innocent."

Mason glared, his eyes and nostrils flaring. "You would have me turn myself in? Do you not realize what those camps are for?"

Cedric shook his head, fumbling for words. "I … I assumed the city has run out of space in the prison system. I thought it helped the authorities to sort out the innocent from the guilty, so they can find the masterminds behind the attacks. Surely they'll have to release your wife, along with any other innocent Kitezhians—"

"No!" Mason shook his head vehemently. "You could not be more wrong! These so-called camps are execution centers, nothing more. They have already put hundreds of Kitezhians _to death_!"

Cedric gripped the edge of his mantle even harder. Mason's claims took the breath right out of him. It was impossible, even to consider! Who would dare carry out executions without due process? No sane man would _ever_ follow such a monstrous mandate!

Without thinking, he fired back a response. "How dare you make such claims? You think our own soldiers would stoop to such a thing? I'll not stand here and entertain such nonsense!"

Mason recoiled, looking dejected. "I see … I clear came to the wrong place. How could I have ever thought that Angkor's Grand Craftsman would be willing to question his country's authority?"

Cedric furrowed his brow at the obvious challenge to his integrity. He was still in awe over ideas of execution centers, but he paused to think it through. "Look, there's no need to treat me like I'm some kind of an insider, willing to turn my back on wrongdoing. I've known you to be a truthful man, Mason, but you're suggesting that our kingdom is murdering innocent people—and at an alarming rate, no less! I think the burden of proof is _on you_!"

Mason stood up and faced Cedric defiantly. "You want me to show you my wife's dead body before you are convinced?"

"No!" Cedric cried, feeling weak in the knees. "I want an explanation! I've worked with King Richard for more than fifteen years. I know him personally, as well as most of his staff—and they're not killers! The idea's so preposterous, I don't even know where to begin! You know what I think? I think the authorities will ask your wife some questions. And if you join her, I think you'll both be home by tea time tomorrow. Don't you think that's a better idea than hiding in the sewers, and exposing yourself to a disease?"

Cedric eagerly awaited Mason's response, but his old colleague regarded him listlessly. His eyes were vacant and dispirited. "Yes, I see your point," he finally admitted. "Why should you believe me, given your history with the palace? These acts are certainly unprecedented, so it is no wonder that you are blind to the truth."

"That's enough, Mason!" Cedric growled. "Unless you have something concrete to show me—"

"I will tell you plainly," Mason interrupted, pointing with his forefinger. "I cannot simply produce proof for you on the spot, but I _will_ tell you everything I know."

Cedric stood tall and crossed his arms. "I'm listening …."

Mason took a deep breath, his face was filled with contempt. Not directed toward Cedric, but to what he was about to reveal.

"The night after the attack, word spread quickly. But, I have my own contacts, who came to me with early information. Apparently, the attackers left no trace of whom they were, nor even a sign that Kitezh was their country of origin. And yet, King Richard proclaimed them as Kitezhian revolutionaries, even though there was _no proof_! I also learned that Angkor attacked Rungholt yesterday morning, which means that Richard has already committed an act of war. He has no choice now, but to follow through and make my people the scapegoat, whether or not we were truly responsible!"

Cedric was aghast, but he quickly formed his rebuttal. "But, that's hardly the same as sentencing all Kitezhian people to death!"

"I was getting to that," Mason returned, with a look of intensity. His words were daggers, cutting to the heart of Cedric's deeply held trust in his kingdom. "I have contacts who have seen the camps for themselves! You know this nation's protocols well enough to know that I speak the truth. Just look at the hostility by which the Angkorian military comes to people's homes armed with lethal weapons, or how they throw their prisoners into carts with iron bars, like animals—and the fact that they keep the nature of the camps so hidden! You cannot sit there and tell me that it is all a misunderstanding!"

Cedric found that he had broken into a cold sweat. He could not believe any of it—yet he was shaking! "There's just no way … Richard would never order the deaths of hundreds of innocents … people would never allow it …."

"It is not illegal for the king to label a person for committing treason," Mason argued. "You know the penalty for such a charge, do you not? The camps are merely the means of fulfilling the sentence. If I cannot find my wife, then _she_ _will die_—just like the others!"

Cedric found himself in his armchair. At some point, he had collapsed into it. He had to work his mouth, just so he could speak. "I just … I just can't believe—"

"It is the truth!" Mason roared.

"There—there has to be another explanation!" Cedric stuttered frantically. "What—what if King Richard knows something about the insurgents that you don't?" His eyes were wild and filled with passion. "What if they're inside Niedam as we speak, plotting against us? What if they poison the water supply, or set fire to the city?"

Mason shook his head. "Now you are thinking just like they want you to. They introduce fear and let it form your mind for you. Even if there are insurgents, how could the answer be to sentence every Kitezhian to death? Can you answer me that?"

Cedric closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands. The room swam around him, and he needed to stop the dizziness. He tried to comprehend Mason's claims, but could not accept that his entire country had rotted from beneath without him noticing. It was just not possible!

But … what if Mason was right? What would it mean? Could Rosa and Bram have stumbled upon something so terrible and insidious that Richard marked them as traitors, just to cover it up? Would he be willing to murder an entire race of people, just to acquire another of the sunstones …?

Cedric opened his eyes. The room had stopped spinning, but Mason was already gone. A clamor erupted in the far end of his manor house. He stood up, taking in a lung full of air. "Erik!" he bellowed, ignoring the light-headedness as blood rushed to his head.

His butler emerged from the next room, a little sooner than Cedric had expected. A man in a high ranking uniform followed beside him.

"What's this all about?" Cedric demanded

"I'm sorry, sir," Erik replied, "but it seems that Mister Eckerd may have had an encounter with local law enforcement. Captain Chaucer here has recommended that we cooperate in returning him into custody."

Cedric's stomach clenched. Law enforcement had tracked Mason all the way to the manor house! Could it mean that there was truth behind his claims? If even part of what he said was true, Cedric could not turn him in!

He pulled himself together, and faced the officer boldly, in his steadiest voice. "As you can see, Captain, Mister Eckerd is no longer here."

"Then I'll be taking you, instead," Chaucer responded.

Cedric took a step back. His heart caught mid-way up his ribcage. "For what?"

"To interrogate you on the location of a suspected insurgent."

"That's preposterous!" Cedric screamed.

"Maybe so, Mister Curtis, but if you don't come willingly, then I'll be forced to arrest you."

Cedric looked to his butler pleadingly.

"I'll send for the lawyer immediately," Erik told him.

Cedric hung his head, and quietly followed Captain Chaucer back to jail.


	42. Chapter 4: Part IV

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**Part IV**

_Morning of Somnus, Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

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After several days in civilian clothes, Bram once again donned his Gnostic armor. He did this under the canopy of a densely-wooded grove, half a league from the city's southern gates. He had left Géorg behind with the sandskipper to watch over Rosa and Uriana. They were hidden inside a stone quarry, another half-league to the east. Bram wanted to make sure they were safe, in case something happened to him. He was taking a big risk, and if something went wrong, he had no way to protect himself.

As he strapped on his cuirass and greaves, he basked in the irony of what he was about to do. Angkor had just waged the most devastating attack in Kitezhian history upon their capital city, and Bram hoped to find their king still alive. Assuming Henrich Brandt made it safely out of the palace before it was destroyed, Bram would seek him out, and if possible, help him to retake the city. In return, he hoped to gain another ally—someone who could help him in the fight against his former kingdom—to stop King Richard from gathering the remaining sunstones.

And yet, here he was—donning the garb of a Gnostic Knight—whose notoriety was in large part due to their savagery and ruthlessness against the Kitezhian people during the War. He had spent plenty of time over the past few days questioning his past. At one time, he regarded his orders as absolute, but now he realized that he had been blinded by his own nationalism.

It was easy for a soldier to rationalize protecting his homeland, but it did not make the choices right, nor did it make it any easier to accept the consequences later. He wanted to cast aside the things that reminded him of what he had done, including his armor. It was a symbol of everything wrong with the Knights, except he still needed it to complete his mission. As he strapped the pieces to his body, he felt their burden—not one measured in kilos of weight, but in the years of life that he had been a slave to their dogma.

As he studied his sword, he remembered all the times he had used the magically-imbued darksteel in battle, as well as the hundreds of lives he had slain. It was an extension of his arm, a weapon of flesh, a venomous growth that protruded from his hand. But he regretted the deeds it helped him to accomplish—every one of them. If he could only remove the appendage and erasing the memories of his past, he would not hesitate to gouge it out.

At last, he pulled out his helm, the hideous mask of a Gnostic Knight, with its deep soulless eyes. It was black, like the rest of his armor, honed into the shape of a horned skull. The smithies carved it this way, not just to intimidate the enemy, but also to remove any shred of humanity from the one who wore it. Perhaps, it had worked too well. Bram remembered feeling stronger and more confident while wearing it. He had the image and reputation of the perfect Gnostic—but no longer. As soon he found King Brandt, he intended to finally cast his armor and blade aside for good.

With the garb fully assembled, he tore his traveler's clothes into strips and used them to bind Matthias's arms, mouth, and eyes—standard practice for escorting a captive wizard. Airships had begun circling overhead, watching for travelers, and he wanted to make sure that all was fully prepared before he was spotted. Dabbing the remaining rags in a nearby puddle, he used them to wipe away the dirt and smudges on his armor. He ignored Matthias's impatient prodding, and took the time to do it right. While not perfect, he had to at least look presentable enough to convince the guards at the gate that he was authentic. He did not want his cover blown because he forgot one of the smaller details.

Having no more use for the bag, he stuffed the tattered remains of his civilian clothes inside, and buried it under the thick leaves of a shrub. He did not want to leave anything behind, no matter how slim a chance that someone might find it. He then took Matthias by the shoulder and led him from the copse of trees.

He marched to the top of the hill on Rungholt's southern side, where he beheld the city in all its splendor. Its great walls stretched out toward the sea, and its historic stone structures portrayed the beauty of the old architecture. The guards at the gate stirred as he approached. They were barely visible at his distance, but he detected their subtle movement as they turned toward his direction.

Rungholt's gates each had two adjoining towers, where archers or armsmen could fire projectiles from a distance. As Bram approached, he saw two guards covering the front, but he knew others would be hidden inside. He suspected that they might have pillaged Kitezhian firearms from their attack on the city.

These devices were the result of years of Kitezhian research to create a new kind of weapon. They were built with long metal shafts, capable of launching small steel projectiles with incredible force. By inserting and igniting a charge of explosive powder on one end, the weapon accelerated the projectiles at lethal speeds toward a target. They were entirely non-magical, which meant no need for nearby wizards. Additionally, they were lighter and smaller than longbows, and boasted better range and accuracy. The only downside was the lengthy reloading process between successive shots. Angkor tried for years to duplicate the technology using magic to reduce reloading times, but the results were still not product-worthy.

As Bram marched down the hillside, he further assessed his position. He knew the city's defenses were among the finest in the Northern Continent, which meant he had little chance of getting inside, except for straight through the front gates. Once he crossed within range of arms fire, there was no turning back. Even at his distance, he saw beyond the city walls, at soldiers marching on the streets. It was clear that they were military units, and much more than he had expected. Occupying the city made sense, but the defenses left behind seemed in excess of even Angkor's stringent protocols.

The larger airships had already left, and Bram was sure they already held the sunstone in their possession. Then again, if such were the case, he would have expected them to leave only a minimal force behind—a handful of men at most, just to hold back local resistance. Perhaps something else gave them reason to maintain their defenses.

Now that he was close enough, he noticed that the two soldiers at the gates both carried firearms, in addition to their more familiar swords strapped to their belts. It was more for show than anything else, since it discouraged nearby farmers or villagers from launching a foolish retaliatory strike. The real defenses lay further inside.

The guards watched Bram closely. When he was close enough for them to speak in normal voices, they stood tall and saluted.

"Sir," they spoke in unison.

"Open the gates," he ordered gruffly, in a manner expected from a Gnostic Knight.

The guards paused, sharing uneasy glances.

"I beg forgiveness, sir," one of them mumbled, "but it seems like you have a wizard with you."

"What of it?" Bram demanded. "I caught him sneaking around nearby, and I'll be taking him inside for questioning."

The guard shrank back. "But … we have strict orders from General Blair himself. It'd be a violation of protocol to allow him inside. Surely you must know."

Bram crossed his arms. "State your names and ranks, soldiers."

The guard pressed his lips together tightly before responding. "Corporal Higgins, sir, and this is Private First Class Fry." The smaller man nodded in agreement, while staring uneasily at Matthias.

Bram put his tone of voice into something he hoped would sound intimidating. "Remind me, Corporal, the punishment given to a low-ranking soldier for disregarding the orders of a high-ranking knight."

It seemed to work. A drop of sweat rolled slowly down Higgins' forehead. His eyes strayed, unable to meet Bram's venerable gaze. Nevertheless, he mustered enough courage to respond. Standing an inch taller, he stated, "Insubordination, sir, is grounds for a court martial. If convicted, I would face demotion, or even removal from service altogether. In severe cases, I could be imprisoned for no more than a year."

It was a textbook response. Though he said it with confidence, his lips were trembling. Private First Class Fry looked equally uncomfortable, but he turned to his commander and whispered something in his ear. Bram did not hear every word, but it was enough to catch the drift. Fry had suggested that they avoid a possible career-limiting confrontation with the Gnostic Knight by letting him proceed, and then send someone to inform the general later. This was precisely what Bram had hoped.

He knew the Angkorian military would have left the city with more than enough defenses, but not nearly enough leadership. He had enough experience with his country's protocol to know that command positions were lightly staffed, since King Richard followed the philosophy of never leaving too many magistrates in the courtroom. A small number of officers meant that each of them could focus on their tasks with less bureaucracy, as well as less time for _other_ ambitions.

Of course, it was a double-edged sword. Fewer leaders often led to greater chaos in the ranks. With so many low-ranking soldiers in control, Bram doubted that General Blair would realize the breech in his protocol until it was too late. Higgins appeared to agree with Fry's suggestion, and with a final salute, he motioned for the gatekeeper to open the city gates.

Bram turned away from the two guardsmen without acknowledging them—a perfectly arrogant behavior that befitted his ruse. He tugged briskly on the rope that was tied around Matthias's neck, causing the old wizard to trip over himself in order to keep up. It was more for theatrical effect, but he hoped he had tied the gag securely enough to stifle what he expected to be profoundly bitter curses.

With the matter of entry now behind him, he stepped into Rungholt for the first time. Although he had fought on Kitezhian soil many years ago, he had never been inside their capital. The tall stone buildings and cobblestone streets had a strikingly different look, compared to newer cities, like Niedam. The buildings were constructed out of limestone that came from the mountains hundreds of years before Angkor's cities were built. Marble fountains and statues adorned the intersections of roughhewn and rustic streets.

The southern districts had no evidence of damage, since the airstrikes seemed to concentrate their weaponry around the palace, which lay in ruins to the north. Even so, the rest of the city went about regular business. Dozens of soldiers patrolled the streets, but that did not stop the residents from performing daily activities. Families still needed food and supplies, and businessmen still needed to make a living.

As soon as he was sure that no one was trailing, Bram ducked into an alleyway and dragged Matthias behind some tall, wooden crates. Given the stench, the crates might have once held fish from the harbor. The adjacent building appeared to be a tavern, and they likely used the alley to store their empty food parcels. No one would have any reason to enter the alley so early in the morning, and the smell would discourage nosy passersby.

Bram took a knife from his belt and cut Matthias' restraints. Once free of the bonds, the old man rubbed at his wrists and neck. Although he had agreed to the plan, it did not stop him from giving Bram dirty looks for the rough treatment.

"Do you have a better idea yet on where to find your daughter?" Bram asked.

Matthias pulled at a chain from around his neck. At its end was an opal, which he rubbed softly with his thumb. "Thanks be to Gaia. She does not seem to be in the direction of the palace." He closed his eyes, looking deep in concentration. "She's to the northwest, possibly in the Altestadt."

The Altestadt was a region of Rungholt commonly known as the "old city". Most of Rungholt was about five hundred years old, but the Altestadt was almost twice that age. Over time, due to lack of maintenance, the buildings grew derelict. As they collapsed, the residents moved out, leaving empty shells that were only occupied by the occasional transient. Since Bram had agreed to finds Matthias' daughter, the Altestadt would be their first destination. Only then would they look for King Brandt.

"It's time to follow the plan," Bram announced. "Change clothes, and we'll take separate routes."

Matthias backed up a few paces and waved his arms in the gestures of a spell. With a few spoken words, his gray robes turned dark, and the thin material turned to thick wool in the style of the local residents. He pulled the hood to cover his face, making it appear like he was fighting against the cold. A walking stick appeared in his hands, and he bent over it feebly. The transformation seemed to add at least a dozen years to his age. His disguise made it unlikely that he would to run into any suspicion. Supposedly, the magic to change a wizard's appearance took very minimal effort, especially compared to complex spells, such as invisibility.

"Follow the main streets to the harbor," Matthias directed, "then turn north at the fisheries. I'll take a different route, so that we won't be seen together. There's a park about a hundred spans north of the Altestadt. We'll meet there. Once you see me, follow my lead from a distance, at least until we're far from prying eyes."

Bram nodded and left the alley first. Once again, he noted the behavior of the townsfolk and marveled at how smoothly Angkor had succeeded in occupying the city. But he wondered what happened to all of Kitezh's military. He expected Rungholt had probably held at least ten thousand soldiers, but they were conspicuously missing. There were no ditches for the dead, nor did he see any blood-stained streets. In fact, there seemed to be no signs of battle at all. It looked as if the city had simply capitulated, even though it hardly seemed likely. The northern district may have been destroyed, but at least some of the soldiers should have escaped and fought back. The only other possibility was that they were in hiding, but he had no idea where such a large group of men go, especially while dozens of Angkorian soldiers patrolled the streets. It made no sense.

Bram passed by the harbor, where the salty sea air wafted by his nose. The buildings there were made of stone, rather than brick or wood. Instead of cobblestone streets, sand-blown pathways led to wooden piers. The air felt briny and cold as it blew off the frigid ocean. The boats were all docked, empty and abandoned since the harbor had been shut down. Even the waves seemed to capitulate, as they lapped languidly upon the shore.

After passing the harbor, he turned inland in search of the park that Matthias described. He found it no less than a couple hundred spans from the waterfront. It was tiny by most standards, consisting of a few shrubs, some benches, and a contraption for children to play on. It was not as clean or pristine as the eastern city, but it suited the industrial side of town.

Matthias had arrived first. He sat on a bench throwing breadcrumbs at a gathering flock of gulls. Before Bram approached, the wizard rose and headed up the hill. He did a fine job of keeping just out of reach, but not out of sight.

The Altestadt was larger than Rungholt's other districts, representing about a sixth of the city. It was easy to imagine how it might have looked, almost a thousand years ago. Wide pillars welcomed visitors like open arms. Some of them had broken and tumbled over, but the beauty somehow remained. The architecture had a noble simplicity to it, with the corners of structures rounded instead of flush. Stone statues stood at key intersections, though time had weathered their features considerably. Only a few still had their limbs attached, likely an effect of vandalism and theft over the years.

Once they were far enough out of sight from occupying soldiers, Matthias allowed Bram to catch up. "My daughter's close."

Bram looked upward. "It's past high-sun. We'll need to move quickly, so we still have time left to look for King Brandt."

Matthias pointed to a row of dilapidated buildings. "She's in one of those. I'm sure of it!"

Bram reached for his sword. "I saw movement."

"Where?"

"It came from the side of that building—there!" Bram pointed to an area in between two collapsed towers. The upper floors of one of them had slid into the other, which created a covered space underneath. Rubble covered the entrance, but Bram swore he could see bodies moving inside.

Matthias shed his disguise and morphed back into his former self. He stood taller and more magnificent than Bram remembered. His cane transformed into his familiar staff, which he pointed toward the building. He mumbled words of magic under his breath. Wrinkling his nose, he announced his findings. "There are seven people in there, perhaps more. I'm going in to get my daughter!"

Bram tried to stop him, but the wizard brazenly marched forward. From the corner of his eye, Bram caught sight of someone else sneaking along the side, ready to draw his firearm.

"Matthias—look out!" Bram yelled, before realizing that a second assailant had approached from his flank. The man was quick to slip his long knife between the plates of armor around Bram's neck.

"Put down the sword, _Gnostic_," the man commanded in a Kitezhian accent. Three more men appeared from nearby nooks. Each held a firearm, ready to shoot.

Bram felt that he could take on a few of them, but he did not know how many others lurked nearby. His Gnostic armor could absorb a few direct hits from a firearm, but he could not stop a blade from being shoved in between the seams. He put down the sword as instructed.

One of the Kitezhians bent over to pick it up. "Watch it!" Bram warned. "Gnostic swords are poisonous. I'm the only one immune to that blade."

The Kitezhian nodded, looking grateful. He used his cloak to delicately grasp the sword by its shaft.

"I've come peacefully," Matthias explained. "I'm here for my daughter, Angela Deleuze. The Gnostic is an ally, in support of King Brandt. He no longer serves Angkor."

"Why should we believe you?" questioned a scrawny man who emerged from a door on the side of a nearby building. He appeared in his mid-thirties, with light-brown hair, and a face that was thin and cleanly shaven. He was unarmed.

Matthias grinned. "Because if I'd wished you harm, I'd have rendered your puny weapons useless the moment you first exposed yourselves."

The old wizard waved of his hand and spoke a few words of magic. The Kitezhians dropped their firearms in unison, shaking their hands in pain. The metal of the weapons had turned red-hot.

"You must be Matthias, the Gray," the scrawny man stated, offering a smile of his own. His eyes held a certain level of cunning and intelligence. While his comrades still grasped their wounded hands, the scrawny man's decision to come unarmed now seemed like a wise move.

"I am," Matthias confirmed.

"Good. My name is Konrad, and I represent His Majesty, the King. He is expecting you. I can take you to him, and your daughter as well. Will you please join us inside?"

Bram felt hopeful. It was a risk to trust these men, but if they could take him to Angela and King Brandt, it would solve both problems at once.

Matthias nodded hesitantly. Konrad headed back to the collapsed buildings, and opened the door. It revealed a set of stairs leading to a passage underground.

"The Gnostic comes, too," Matthias demanded.

"Very well," Konrad agreed.

One of the Kitezhians gave Bram back his sword. He was given permission to sheathe it, but Konrad watched him closely. He had many unanswered questions, and hoped the answers awaited below.


	43. Chapter 4: Part V

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**Part V**

_Morning of Somnus, Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Cedric felt the oppressive weight of Captain Chaucer's gaze. "Is there anything else you'd care to tell me about Mister Eckerd?" he repeated.

Cedric shook his head drowsily. He sat in a dark room that was empty except for two small wooden chairs and a plain rectangular table. It was part of the Judiciary Center, a building inside the capital's Inner Sanctum, where the kingdom's police interrogated persons of interest in criminal cases. Cedric was escorted there following his "voluntary" consent, and for hours was grilled by the captain on Mason Eckerd's disappearance. Chaucer repeated his questions multiple times, each phrased slightly differently, in a transparent ploy to catch an inconsistency.

"Can you please describe for me how Mister Eckerd left your residence?" Chaucer probed. Earlier, he had asked if Cedric had seen which way the fugitive went after disappearing.

Cedric was thoroughly frustrated by the whole process. There were no charges levied against the accused, nor even an explanation for why it was worth over six straight hours of questioning, just to determine his last known location. Though Cedric's patience wore thin, he cooperated fully, hoping to avoid the real ogre in the room.

"He must have left just before you arrived," Cedric answered. "I've told you multiple times. I was resting my eyes, so I didn't see where he went." He had given the same response last time, as well as the time before that.

"Yes, so you say." The captain's response was overtly flippant. "But, you haven't yet convinced me why you would have a conversation with your eyes closed."

Cedric gritted his teeth, nearing the end of his patience. "Why would I lie?" he challenged. "I have no reason to protect the man you're looking for! He's an old colleague, nothing more. We've conducted plenty of business, but we'd never personally met until last night!"

These were all truths, but Cedric consciously avoided his knowledge of camps along the countryside, which Mason had claimed were executing Kitezhian captives by the hundreds. He knew that if there were a conspiracy, exposing his knowledge of the secret would put him in greater harm. Instead, he wanted to be free from the captain's interrogation, so he could investigate the matter himself.

"Why did he feel the need to contact you, in particular?" Chaucer pressed, his face filled with heightening displeasure.

Perhaps he had intended the question as bait for Cedric to confess what Mason had revealed, but Cedric was too savvy to fall into the trap. The constant stream of questions wore him down, but he stuck to his story. "I suppose it was out of desperation, and because he had nowhere else to go. I can't imagine any other reason."

Chaucer paused and folded his hands. His eyes locked on Cedric's, like a wolf marking its prey. "I _know_ …" he said, baring his teeth, "that you're holding something back."

Cedric regarded the captain through enervated eyelids. Fatigue may have dulled his senses, but he was lucid enough to recognize Chaucer's first real accusation—and it left an uneasy feeling in the pit of his gut.

The captain waved his forefinger threateningly. "You've been very good at staying consistent in your responses, but I'll bet my beard that there's something you haven't told me. And I won't be letting you out of my sight until I find out what it is!"

Cedric braced for what he thought would be more hours of grueling questions, but rather unexpectedly, there was a knock upon the door. The captain muttered a curse under his breath as another well-dressed officer entered the room. Cedric wondered what was so important that it warranted this kind of disruption.

Chaucer nearly leapt from his seat to engage the man. They spoke in hushed voices, but Cedric could tell from their body language that the debate was contentious. Chaucer shook his head defiantly, but the other man held his ground.

Sighing, the captain turned toward Cedric and motioned toward the door. "It appears that you can leave, after all," he conceded with more than a hint of acrimony.

"I … I don't understand," Cedric admitted.

"It appears that we no longer require your testimony. The man for whom we've been searching is dead."

The hairs stood up on the back of Cedric's neck. "What?" he shrieked. He felt his anger brewing. "You mean he was _murdered_!"

Cedric wished he could take back the words, but it was too late. Perhaps lack of sleep had finally caught up to him, but he had inadvertently given the captain precisely what he wanted. Chaucer's lip upturned in a subtle grin, and he blatantly ignored the outburst.

"You've had a long night, Mister Curtis," he said with utter calm. "My suggestion is that you return home and get some sleep."

Cedric felt a fire in his gut. It seemed the situation had reversed, and now the captain held a secret—one which he seemed to enjoy keeping.

Cedric was angered by the injustice. "Can I expect the matter behind Mister Eckerd's death to be investigated as thoroughly as that of his disappearance?"

The captain responded with an obvious smirk. "You can be sure the members of this office will make every conceivable effort."

Damn the lies! Cedric scowled and stormed out the door. But before he had gone far, Chaucer floated a final piece of advice. "If you later feel the need to purge your conscience, you know where to find me, Mister Curtis. In the meantime, I'll be keeping my eye on you."

Cedric did not even bother to acknowledge the threat. Mason's death was no accident. There _was_ a conspiracy, and Mason knew all about it! The reason why Cedric was subjected to six hours of interrogation was so that the kingdom's police could cover it up! And if the conspiracy ran that deep, then it was more important than ever to inform King Richard.

He decided to request an audience with the king directly. He could easily arrange one, under the pretense of an update on the Zounds prototype. He was, after all, Angkor's Grand Craftsman—which gave him the liberty to discuss the project any time he wanted. Of course, while in His Majesty's presence, he could discuss other topics ….

He had to be subtle, though, since there was one other possibility. Although Cedric was loath to consider it, it was possible that King Richard was complicit. Cedric had too much respect for his king to think he would dare to enact such a despicable edict, but it was hard to imagine anyone within the kingdom getting away with mass executions without Richard knowing.

One thing was certain. If not for Cedric, there was no one else capable of finding the truth. Given Mason's tragic death, he owed it to his old friend to find out.


	44. Chapter 4: Part VI

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**Part VI**

_Morning of Somnus, Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

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Matthias Deleuze followed the Kitezhian man named Konrad down the stairwell carved beneath the dilapidated buildings of the Altestadt. It led to a series of tunnels that were referred to as _the Network_. They had once been part of an ancient city waterway, but had since been modified to serve as a bunker. The tunnels were vast, running the entire length of the city—and beyond.

Extensive numbers of Kitezhian soldiers patrolled the luminess-lit passageways. It occurred to Matthias that the lack of evidence of Kitezhian resistance on the surface was due to the fact that the city's defenses had escaped underground. It explained why Angkor had left behind such a strong occupation force after departing with the sunstone. Had they not, the underground resistance would have seized on their chance to reclaim power. The fact that the Network still managed to function meant that Angkor had not yet found an entrance.

Bram Morrison walked to Matthias' left. It was no surprise that Konrad kept a steady eye on former Gnostic Knight throughout their march. Gnostics were by far the strongest and most loyal in King Richard's army, and they were responsible for many of the atrocities that befell the Kitezhian people during the War. If not for Matthias' strong vouching, it was likely the Kitezhians would have tried to kill him before letting him to see an entrance to their lair.

Matthias knew that Rungholt's survival depended on keeping the entrances to the Network well hidden. Word had it that underground caretakers went so far as to seal up various ingress points—while creating new ones—so that even time itself would not betray their locations.

Of course, Matthias had not always trusted Bram. When they first met, the knight came across as suspicious—and that was putting it lightly. He dressed like a civilian, but he carried a very different kind of swagger. Not to mention that his initial claims of Uriana being his daughter were full of rubbish from the start. Matthias knew how real fathers looked when they talked about their daughters. The glimmer in their eye, the creases full of fondness around their lips, and the deep sigh full of adoration—Bram had none of these. He was a man acting a part in order to get a free ride to Kitezh, and Matthias felt like a sucker for letting him tag along. Even though the knight later admitted to the truth, it was only after Uriana's identity as a Conjurion had been exposed. And even then, he never elaborated on how he came to be her caretaker.

Matthias remembered seeing the reddening sky above the Mountains of Ur on his way to Saladin. He had sensed incredible magic emanating from there. Whatever dark powers caused the eruption, he knew it had destroyed the valley—and he could not help but think it a strange coincidence that Bram had traveled from the same direction. It made Matthias fearful that Bram might not be the victim after all, and he wondered what else the Gnostic Knight had intentionally kept hidden. Matthias was almost ready to cut him loose, when Géorg Töller stepped forward, and insisted they honor their original agreement.

Since then, Matthias watched Bram closely, looking for reasons to doubt him further. A part of him wanted to believe that Bram journeyed for Uriana's benefit, as well as to find cure the magical disease infecting Rosa Reynolds. Bram also sounded sincere about wanting to stand up against Angkor and combat their search for the sunstones. Even so, Matthias had to be careful. Sometimes, even the most well-intentioned men were capable of turning on a person, under the right conditions.

For now, the only thing important to Matthias was finding his daughter. Angela meant so much to him, and he was terrified to think that she might be hurt, or afraid. He wanted to hold and comfort her, and assure her that she would be safe. If only she had not been lured away from home by that lying weasel of a musician! Matthias was baffled that such a lowly street rat could somehow be tied to the Kitezhian royal family. There was no other explanation for how Angela would be in the king's company. Matthias was familiar with the Kitezhian tendency to intermingle between classes, but it was still strange that she and King Brandt would be in the same area.

Matthias had so many questions, and he felt it was time to break the awkward silence. Besides, according to his pendant, Angela should have been close by the moment he descended into the tunnels. It was a question that could not wait.

"Konrad, is it? May I have a word?"

The scrawny man turned his head and gave the wizard his full attention.

Matthias continued. "I have a device—it looks like a gold chain and pendant—and it detects my daughter's location. I've felt her close by for a while now, so I assume you have the other half. Can I have it back?"

Konrad bowed his head, and drew something from his breast pocket. "My apologies, Master Deleuze. We knew you were coming for her, and decided it was the best way to lead you here."

He handed Matthias the chain and opal pendant. The old wizard grasped it lovingly, and his heart ached to see her. "How much longer will it take to reach her?"

"Shortly," Konrad answered after a moment of hesitation. "But first, our king has requested your presence."

Matthias picked up on Konrad's tone of voice, and his heart sank further. There was something that the Kitezhian man held back, and it felt like a bad omen that a king would request precedence over a father being reunited with his daughter. He prayed to Gaia that she was not harmed in any way, but he had little choice but to follow, and see where Konrad led him.

Eventually, the appearance of the passages changed, and they became brighter and cleaner. Torchiere stands replaced the luminess, casting a more natural light. Banners and paintings covered the walls, and furniture appeared in corners. It started to look more like a king's quarters, and Matthias figured they must be close.

Konrad stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. "Wait here," he requested, entering first. He closed the door behind him, leaving Matthias and Bram with the other Kitezhian soldiers, who all watched the pair through untrusting eyes. The waiting was awkward and uncomfortable, but finally, Konrad emerged and beckoned them inside.

It was an empty room, except for a long table with rounded edges in its center. At the head of the table sat a boy in regal vestments. Matthias recognized him instantly, and it was _not_ King Brandt!

"What in the Burning Pits is _this_?" Matthias demanded. "Some sort of joke?"

He felt his blood start to boil, and it was hard to remain civil when that happened. Instead of a king, the Kitezhians had presented the same musician-boy who had eloped with his daughter—except, they dressed him in the robes of their king. Whatever prank the Kitezhians played, it was tasteless beyond compare! He was fuming.

The boy held out his hands in a pacifying manner. "Please be at ease, Master Deleuze. My name is Józef."

"I don't care who you are!" Matthias bellowed. The nearby soldiers grew nervous and placed their hands on their sword hilts. The boy signaled to them to take it easy, but Matthias was not impressed. "You took Angela away from her home! And from her father who loves her! Where is she?"

Matthias found himself looking down at the boy. At some point, he had crossed to the other side of the room, but the last few moments were a blur. The blood beat loudly behind his ears. He wanted to wrap his hands around the boy's throat and squeeze.

Józef rose nervously from his chair, but stood firm. His eyes darted back and forth, as if looking to his retainers for help.

"Can we at least sit down and talk?" he asked, his voice just barely steady. "I … I am the son of Henrich Brandt, which makes me king—"

"What are you blathering about?" Matthias cut him off. "If you're Henrich's son, then I demand to speak with your father. _Now_!"

Józef's lower lip started to tremble, and he broke away from the old wizard's gaze. "My father is dead. He perished in the attack."

Matthias pressed his lips together tightly, trying to hold back his rage long enough to process the new information. "So that explains it," he muttered. "But being heir of a king does _not_ give you permission to take what you want!"

Józef faced him like a wounded dog. "But … Angela came willingly!"

Matthias scowled, with a face that could turn a basilisk to stone. "You're going to stand there and lie to my face?"

"No!" Józef said defensively. His face was pinched in a sorrowful grimace. "I do not lie. We _loved_ each other!"

"Bullocks!" Matthias shot back. "I don't want to hear your sentimental ideas about love. You're too young to know anything about it! I've been Angela's father for sixteen years. I raised her _by myself_ since she was a newborn, and cared for her every need. I watched her grow up, was there for her first words, her first smile, and her first tears! I was there the first time her heart was broken, the first time she danced the ballet, and the first time she won an equestrian competition! Where in the Burning Pits were _you_?"

Józef lowered his eyes. Matthias knew right away that their love was a farce—and it was time to set the record straight!

"I know what you _think_ love is," he said to drive the point home. His voice dripped with sarcasm. "You look at it like a poem. Oh, sure it sounds lovely … small, concise, and makes a man feel good … but in the end, it's all make-believe! You think knowing Angela for a few weeks meant she loved you back? Ha! What little girl wouldn't want to meet a prince and travel the world with him? Your concept of _love_ would have entire villages falling for you—and it's a sham! If any harm has befallen her, I'll hold _you _responsible!"

"Your Majesty!" Konrad's interrupted from the other side of the room, cutting off Matthias' rant. "Perhaps we should just take him to her."

Józef looked completely broken. The sorry excuse for a prince nodded his head weakly, and Konrad came over to attend to him. He stepped in front of Matthias to put some distance between him and the heir. Matthias was willing to let it go. He had already left the impression he wanted.

Konrad put his arm around Józef, consoling him like a child. The soldiers at the door made a path for them, providing even more buffer between wizard and heir. Matthias turned to see Bram's gaze as well, but the Gnostic's face held no emotion. Either he did not care, or he disagreed with Matthias' approach and did not want to let him know.

Matthias scoffed and followed the posse of Kitezhian soldiers. He held himself high, with dignity, certain that he had done the right thing! Of course, as the march continued in silence, a horrible feeling formed at the bottom of his gut. He was surrounded on all sides by Kitezhian soldiers, who moved forward somberly, like a funeral procession.

After a few more turns through the Network's passages, they came to another large room. Józef and his entourage entered first before allowing Matthias and Bram to join. No one said a word, and it was up to Matthias to figure out for himself where they had taken him. He expected some kind of personal chamber, but instead it looked like an infirmary. His heart sank as he saw men and women in white gowns moving from one bedside to the next, attending to injured patients who rested on top. He heard nothing but his own breath and heartbeat, as his eyes darted from one bedside to the next. At last, he found her.

His last breath came out in a whimper. The only word that came to mind was an old phrase he used to call her when she was a child. "Baby-girl …."

He stumbled forward, nearly tripping on his own robes. Angela lay in a bed in the far side of the room, surrounded by white wizards. He looked down at her, his heart breaking. His legs felt weak, and he sank to his knees. He wiped away the wetness along his eyes, and his trembling hands reached out to gently caress her hair and cheeks. Her skin was smooth and pure, like that of a healthy girl asleep in bed. But he had to be sure. He spoke the necessary words of magic.

His heart clenched as he assessed her injuries. "You used magic to cover up the burns and lesions on the surface … but there's trauma inside!" He spoke in a broken voice, "There are hemorrhages _everywhere_ …."

Józef stepped forward, his face wet with tears. He was shaking. "We were in the palace when Angkor attacked." He seemed to choke on the words. "I did everything I could, but many of our best wizards were also lost in the attack. Healing those kinds of wounds …." He trailed off.

Matthias shook with rage. "You _fool_."

Józef took the insult in silence, but it only made Matthias more furious.

"You fool! She wouldn't be here, if not for you!"

"It is not my fault!" Józef squeaked, taking a few steps back. His soldiers looked greatly concerned, and a few of them drew their swords and firearms.

Matthias filled with rage. He could see nothing but a red haze that floated in front of his vision. "Your puny weapons mean nothing to me!"

He waved his arm and spoke a word of magic. The soldiers dropped their weapons as they had done in the Altestadt. Hot metal smoked on the floor. Konrad ran forward using a knife with insulated hilt. Matthias drew his powers, and his body lit up with an aura of magic. He unleashed the power, sending Konrad flying backwards, sliding along the floor.

"Matthias, stop!" Bram called out. "These people are not responsible for your daughter."

"Silence!" Matthias roared. "You'd betray me now, _Gnostic_? After what we've been through?"

Matthias felt the heat of his own rage, and he unleashed his force upon Bram, throwing him backward against the wall. The knight hit the stone with a reverberating thud, his body falling limply to the floor. "I never should have trusted you! I'm leaving with my daughter, and don't you _dare_ try to stop me! But first … I'll teach this _boy_ a lesson."

With his protectors defeated, Józef cowered on the other side of the room. His eyes darted toward the exit, but Matthias was unwilling to let him leave. He used his magic, and the doors slammed shut, barricaded with more force than anything on the other side. Józef's eyes filled with fear, and he inched backwards along the back wall. Matthias was filled with gleeful vengeance.

With his hand cupped, he extended his arm as if surrounding a man's throat. Józef grasped at his neck, trying to fight against the invisible force. Matthias lifted him off the floor, clenching his larynx, watching in ecstasy as the boy's face turned blue. The convulsive sounds were music to his ears!

"Father, don't hurt him."

He heard Angela's voice from the bedside behind him, and his rage subsided. The heat and fire were snuffed out as he turned to see her reaching out for him weakly. He released his grip on Józef, hearing a thud as the young king fell to the floor, as well as the sucking sound of gasped air.

But the wizard's full attention was on his daughter. He cautioned her not to speak.

"Don't blame Józef for my injuries, Father," she begged. "It was my choice to run away with him. When the palace was on fire, he did everything he could to save me."

Matthias took her by the hands, feeling her warmth. His anger was a thousand leagues away, replaced with sadness and longing. His heart was in a vice-grip, tightening with each passing moment.

"But why run away in the first place?" he asked. "I've done nothing but love you since the day you were born."

She too looked heartbroken. A single tear rolled down her cheek. "Yes, and I love you deeply in return. Even so, living in a small Vinetan village was not enough for me. I needed more."

Matthias sobbed as he kissed her on the forehead. "Silly girl … you should have talked to me about it."

She smiled weakly. "Had you listened, Father, you would have heard my wanderlust clearly. It sang out loudly enough that the Goddess herself sent a prince to rescue me."

Matthias laughed in between his tears. "It seems you two were perfect for one  
another—"

She coughed, and blood leaked from her mouth.

"No!" Matthias fell once again to his knees, and began working his magic. Angela's movements had caused old clots to tear, causing them to leak once again. He had to repair them, but there were so many! As soon as he sealed one, two more formed. He strained, ignoring the tears of frustration that fell from his eyes.

"Father … my time is short …."

"Don't speak, Angela!" he commanded. "I can heal you, but you must try not to move!"

She gurgled, and a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of her mouth. "It's too late … I need … you to promise … me something."

Matthias shook his head, refusing to believe what was happening! The Goddess could not be so cruel as to have the magnitude of her injuries just outside of the reach of his powers. He had to concentrate, but as he heard his daughter's words, his mind turned to mush.

She sucked in half of a breath of air, and it seemed to take all her strength. "You must promise … to help him … protect the sunstones."

Matthias felt his powers slipping away. "What? Angela—"

"Please, father … he's a good man … and will be a good king. Promise …."

Matthias lowered his head against her chest. He was sobbing. "I promise," he told her.

"I … Mother …" she tried to say more, but her eyes turned to glass, and her body went limp.

"Angela? No … Great Gaia, please! Don't take my child from me!"

His body filled with magic, creating a bright aura that turned the entire room a deep blue. Through vision that was blurred by tears, he worked his Art like never before. He gathered decades' worth of experience in magic, and directed them at his daughter's body. The aura grew, and dancing blue flames surrounded his body. Those in the room shielded their eyes from the blinding light.

He poured all his power into Angela's body, sealing up her wounds, and desperately trying to repair the many organs that leaked her lifeblood. Nothing would stand in his way, not even death itself! He stared into her lifeless eyes. As long as the magic kept flowing, he would never give up! More power flowed through his veins than most wizards ever saw in a lifetime. But sadly, it was not enough ….


	45. Chapter 4: Part VII

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**Part VII**

_Morning of Somnus, Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

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When Cedric arrived back at his manor house, he found his lawyer there waiting for him, patiently camping on the stoop of his front door.

"I came as soon as I received Erik's message, Mister Curtis," he said with a hint of anxiety in his voice. "I'm sorry I was unable to intervene sooner."

"There's no need for apologies, William," Cedric responded with a weary sigh. He was still incredibly exhausted from Captain Chaucer's interrogation. "They questioned me for six merciless hours, but it appears they no longer require my testimony."

"What did you tell them?"

Cedric paused. He trusted his lawyer completely, but it was too soon to talk about Mason's revelations. "I told them the truth. Mason Eckerd arrived at my home unexpectedly. He was agitated and at times irrational, and then left rather mysteriously, just as soon as the captain arrived."

"And did Chaucer ask where Eckerd went?"

"Of course, but like I told him, I didn't know."

William stepped forward, speaking in a hushed voice. "Did you happen to learn that Eckerd was killed this morning while trying to escape the city?"

Cedric nodded, still reeling over it. "Yes, the captain mentioned it to me."

His lawyer smiled. "It's tragic, of course, but also good news for you. Chaucer no longer has legal recourse to bother you any further. I'll make sure the matter is settled, and the record of this injustice is fully expunged."

Cedric nodded again, though he had plenty of work to do before he was willing to let the matter pass. He was convinced that Mason was killed to cover up the truth about the so-called _Kitezhian_ attacks, and the camps along the countryside—and Cedric was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"What is it?" William asked. He must have taken note of Cedric's scowl.

The craftsman sighed, trying to pass it off. "It's nothing … I just can't help but feel like I could've done more—"

"Nonsense, Mister Curtis!" William broke in quickly. "There's nothing you could have done to help such a deranged man."

Cedric scoffed, annoyed that William would denigrate someone so irreverently after his death. "I admit he had a grungy appearance last night, after spending all day evading the kingdom's police—but he had every reason to be distressed!"

"Don't give it a second thought," William dismissed. "Eckerd was of Kitezhian descent, and a fugitive. His actions need no explanation, and you were right not to get involved."

"Mason was _not_ a criminal," Cedric emphasized, still disturbed over his lawyer's disrespectful attitude. "And a person's descent is no reason to criminalize them. I realize the captain's men were just doing their duty to find the men responsible for the attacks, but still … Mason had a good reason to evade the authorities."

William seemed to take note of this claim. He leaned close, eyes filled with intrigue. "Why do you think he had good reason? Did he tell you anything?"

Cedric was taken aback. There was more than just curiosity in his lawyer's voice. He was fishing for something, and it made Cedric feel uneasy. "I'm sorry, William, but I don't wish to reveal the details just yet."

"Damnit, Cedric!" Unexpectedly, his lawyer's brow grew cross, and his mouth tightened into a frown. "If you know something and Chaucer finds out, you'll be in a heap of trouble! And it does you even less good to keep it from _me_!"

Cedric took a step back, shocked at the sudden change of mood. It gave him a second wind, and he was quick to defend himself. "Mind your tone, William! Mason raved about many things last night, and I only meant to suggest that I needed time to figure it out for myself. Some of what he said was indeed troubling, but it does us no good to speculate without context."

His lawyer remained stern. "I apologize if I've overstepped, sir, but I worry for the company you keep of late. First Miss Reynolds, and now this? If Chaucer catches you a third time with someone of questionable character, he'll never let you out of his sight. And at that point, I may be powerless to help you."

Cedric glared at his lawyer, insulted by what he was insinuating. He may have intended good council, but he was clearly overstepping. "You may very well be correct, but my company is not a thing I need to justify to _you_."

The last thing he wanted was to continue a tense debate with his lawyer. There were plenty of other things to do, if he wanted to find the truth. "Well then, William, I must be off. There's an important matter that I must address today with His Majesty."

William stepped in front of the doorway, impeding Cedric's entry. His eyes were wide and wild. "Don't tell me you intend to bring up this incident!"

"What kind of a fool do you take me for? It's about the prototype," Cedric lied.

"Even so," William argued, jabbing his forefinger into Cedric's chest, "I'd still wait a few days before addressing King Richard. It would look too suspicious to ask for his company in the midst of these scandals. Besides, he's meeting with his advisors in the War Room today to discuss retaliatory options."

Cedric took note of this information. "Then he'll most certainly want to hear about my design," he pointed out, before brusquely attempting to shove his way into his own home.

William stood firm. "Take a look at yourself. You haven't slept in over thirty-six hours, and it shows. You need rest, and your update can wait until next week. Besides, you should expect Chaucer to be watching over you for quite some time."

William's words made sense, but Cedric found his behavior to be aggressive and off-putting. He stood firm, puffing out his chest. "I am Angkor's Grand Craftsman, and I'm at liberty to speak with Richard on matters that concern him, any time he's available. I can spare a few hours to freshen up and change clothes, but this can't wait for next week." He once again attempted to enter his home.

"Stop right there." William pressed his hand against Cedric's chest, holding him back. Cedric looked back, boiling with outrage, but his lawyer was undeterred. "You hired me many years ago to keep you out of trouble, and my advice is to _not_ speak with His Majesty today. You've just been arrested for conspiracy of treason, and Chaucer has promised to keep his eye on you. He won't let you within fifty spans of the king."

"The captain never charged me with anything," Cedric stated coolly, though he was fuming inside, "and I intend to speak with Richard _today_!"

William threw up his arms. "I don't think I've ever seen you this pertinacious, but I suppose you're going to do what you want, no matter what I say!"

"And I've never seen you so determined to advise against my wishes, sir! Granted, you've worked for me for many years, but I do _not_ appreciate your tone of disrespect. Don't forget that _you_ work for _me_!"

The passion drained from William's face, leaving behind a dull frown. "Once again, Mister Curtis, I apologize. I'm merely concerned for your wellbeing."

The change in tone helped to cool the fire in Cedric's gut, but he was still determined to follow through on his own. "I forgive you, William, but don't let it happen again. Now, for the last time, I bid you adieu!" He pushed his lawyer aside and entered his manor. Inside, Erik the butler was ready to attend to him. Cedric motioned for him to shut the door.

"Good morning, then, Mister Curtis," his lawyer shouted back from the front steps. Cedric ignored his final words as the doors closed. He headed to his chambers to change clothes, now more steadfast than ever to find the truth.


	46. Chapter 4: Part VIII

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**Part VIII**

_Morning of Somnus, Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

King Józef Brandt rubbed along his neck and jawline, where it was still sore from Matthias' magic choke hold. His white wizards had healed the bruises, but a dull ache still existed deep within the muscle tissue. They told him it just needed time to heal, but it was a constant reminder of Angela's death, and his failure to protect her.

All he wanted was to lock himself away and mourn. Had it not been for Konrad, he would have been happy to hide in his chambers and wait for everything to simply resolve itself on its own. But his First Advisor reminded him that such a thing was never going to happen, and without his leadership, many people's lives were at stake.

Still, it was difficult to pull himself out of his funk and move forward. So many emotions clouded his thinking. Not just the utmost despair over Angela's death, but also the anger from her father's reaction. He thought he understood the gray wizard's feelings, but empathy alone would not make his neck and throat feel any better.

As a token of mutual understanding, he allowed Matthias to have unimpeded access to Angela's body, as well as the utmost privacy. It was the least he could do, though hardly enough. Matthias had raised his daughter from birth, while Józef had only known her for a short time. He wanted to grieve by her side in the Kitezhian tradition, but instead he offered his time to his brooding ministry, who seemed to have no end to what they considered "urgent matters".

Drained and dispirited, he listened to their requests, which seemed like wave after wave of mundane details. He understood the crisis in his city, but surely his ministries did not require royal approval for every minute item. If something needed tending, they ought to just do it! He lowered his eyes, overwhelmed with a responsibility he had never asked for. Everyone depended on him, and he had never considered himself all that dependable.

Instead, he excused himself and requested some time alone with the Gnostic Knight who had accompanied Matthias to Rungholt. The man was an enigma, and the thought of solving this puzzle intrigued Józef. Here was one of Angkor's most dangerous hounds, now a runaway from his own country, siding with his nation's bitter enemy. Józef arranged a private setting in one of the nearby conference rooms. He felt comfortable enough to send away his entourage, so he could speak with his guest more candidly.

He had heard stories about Gnostic Knights, but Bram seemed to violate every telling. He was not arrogant or intimidating, but rather polite and forthcoming. He told about how he had been ordered to obtain the Minoan sunstone, only to have his accomplice use compulsion magic to take it in the dredges of a violent bloodbath. Later, King Richard deceived him a second time by giving him a magical device meant to assassinate the chief of the Conjurion tribe. Except, the device ended up destroying their entire race, as well as the Valley of Ur itself. Józef was wary of trusting Bram's accounts at face value, but if what he said rang true, it would be like the ballad of an epic tragedy brought to life—far sadder than the tales of Gnostic Knights weaved by his fellow Kitezhians.

As for the sunstones, it seemed these were indeed Angkor's true objective. Many in the world believed these artifacts were nothing more than icons of the old Gaian religion, but Józef knew better, as had his father. Many would remember Henrich Brandt as being a fine king, but Józef knew him as a cherished family member. He told Józef about the sunstones as he would a bedtime story, but would always explain that a deeper understanding of their secrets would be passed on through a spell known as The Enchantment. The magic was supposed to have transferred this information to Józef upon Henrich's death, but so far, he had not felt its effects.

Henrich was one of the four sunstone protectors. As legend told, a band of wizards had given the sunstones to four prominent nations a thousand years ago. The wizards created safeguards to ensure that no nation would ever possess all four. The Enchantment was the first, because it compelled its guardians keep their secrets hidden, and it passed on to future rulers, even those from different bloodlines. The spell ensured that the sunstones' protectors would not be tempted to use their powers, or allow the relics out of their sacred temple grounds. Over time, great wars might invariably cause the defeat of some of these great nations, but in order to conquer all four, it would take a military might beyond anything in history.

The second safeguard involved the glass chambers in which each sunstone was placed. These rooms appeared like a hall of mirrors, and they served as a barrier against thieves who would use magical transportation as a means of gaining entry. None but the world's most powerful wizards even knew such spells, but the protection ensured that whoever passed into the rooms must first go through all other obstacles put in place by the sunstones' protectors.

Lastly, the wizards placed a lock upon the sunstones to seal away their powers, which required a complex incantation to remove. Due to this, no one had used the sunstones' powers in centuries—which led to the fourth and perhaps most effective safeguard. Though not intended by the original wizards, it nevertheless discouraged any kind of heist. It was the myth among the masses that the sunstones were powerless religious artifacts, no more useful than a piece of quartz. With no powers to tempt a would-be thief, no one took the risk of challenging the safeguards. The only ones who knew the truth were the sunstone protectors, and The Enchantment compelled them against revealing the truth.

Unfortunately, the spell had not yet passed down to Józef. He knew of the safeguards from his father, but little else of the sunstones' actual powers, or how to use them. According to Bram, Angkor learned these secrets, and now their powers were available to King Richard to aid his ambitions. He had already waged war with Kitezh to acquire a second sunstone, and it was clear he would stop at nothing to gain all four. Józef seemed to recall that bringing all four in close proximity was extremely dangerous, but he had never understood why. Now that his father was dead, he would need to be patient and wait for The Enchantment to take effect.

With Angkor's motives for attacking Rungholt now understood, he turned his questions toward fighting back. He asked Bram for information on their military, including weak points. Kitezh's first priority must be to liberate their capital city, but if there was ever a chance to recover the sunstone, Bram was their best bet. Fortunately, the knight was happy to offer observations on Rungholt's occupation that would aid a potential counter-strike, but he was against returning to war. He believed that proxy battles involving innocent soldiers was the wrong approach, and instead suggested sneaking back into Angkor and taking the sunstone right from under King Richard's nose.

Józef marveled at the idea, and was about to delve deeper when Bram suggested a bit of quid pro quo. After revealing enough details on the sunstones and Angkor's motives, the knight wanted to make his own request. Thinking it wise to reciprocate, Józef asked him to state his desires.

"Your Majesty," Bram began, "you've been hospitable under the circumstances, but I have an urgent request, and time is short."

"You've proven your worth, Sir Morrison. How can I return the favor?"

Bram looked relieved. "As I mentioned earlier, Matthias and I came here on a sandskipper owned by one of your kinsmen, a man named Géorg Töller. However, there are two others in my company: a child whom I managed to rescue from harm, and another woman from Angkor who is very special to me. Her name is Rosa, and she's been poisoned by the enemy. It's magical in nature, but we've managed to halt the worst of its effects. However, I'm afraid we'll need professional help to cure her fully. I'd like to ask for any white wizards you can spare, as well as a means of leaving the city."

Józef listened thoughtfully, but he had to explain to Bram that his request would be problematic. "Escaping through Angkor's defenses will not be difficult. Our tunnels extend into the countryside, and the exits have been well obscured. However, for your companion suffering from the magical toxin, I am afraid we have very few white wizards remaining since the attack. If Matthias the Gray could not heal your friend, then I am afraid our own wizards will not fare better."

Bram's head sank.

"Do not lose hope, though," Józef assured, thinking of a new idea. "In Kitezh, we have a natural cure found nowhere else in the world. I can help you find it … but I will need a favor in return."

The knight nodded. "What can I do?"

Józef smiled, feeling good about his newfound skill of negotiation. "It is clear by now that Kitezh cannot fight Angkor alone. We are far too wounded and underequipped. However, there is one nation strong enough to ally with us."

Bram raised his eyebrows. "You intend to seek help from Koba?"

Clearly the knight was skeptical, leaving Józef to defend his reasoning. "You must know by now that Angkor will target them next, given that they possess a sunstone. Combining our forces is the obvious first step!"

Bram let out a breath, though it sounded more like a snicker. "No offense, Your Majesty, but Koba and Kitezh together could not stand against Angkor during the War. What makes you think you can do so now, especially since Richard has two sunstones in his possession?"

"Several things, Sir Knight," Józef answered with confidence. "First, there are more countries than just Koba who would align with us to stop Angkor. King Richard's ambitions are a threat to the world, and I expect others to follow our lead. Second, your intimate knowledge of Angkor's military secrets is a huge asset, and I hope we can count on you to tilt the advantage in our favor."

Bram folded his arms. "I've already made my decision to take down King Richard, but like I told you, I'm not about to get in the middle of a new war. We'll need to find a better way than to invite bloodshed against innocent people."

"I agree," Józef said enthusiastically, "but first things first. Right now, I must travel to Tiahuanaco, the Koban capital. But due to Angkor's occupation, the normal routes are quite dangerous. That includes going by ship or through the open plains, where they can spot us via airship. The only remaining alternative is the eastern trail across Mount Abakai. Since you claim to have spent a winter there during the War, I would like to propose that you be my guide."

Bram glared at him. "You want _me_ to take you to Tiahuanaco?"

"Precisely," Józef asserted. "Besides, you will surely want to warn Emperor Zhao, and prevent Angkor from gathering yet another sunstone."

The knight appeared to consider the proposal. "Tell me about the cure you've promised."

Józef smiled again, confident that he could close the deal. "It comes from a creature known as a dragon weevil. They are prehistoric arthropods that live in our eastern marshes, which is on the way to Mount Abakai. They are tame creatures, but also very rare, and magical. Inside the yolk of their egg is a substance with proven curative properties. I have not heard of a disease—magical or otherwise—that cannot be remedied."

Bram paused, falling deeply silent. Józef awaited his response, growing more anxious by the moment.

"If there's no better option, then I'm willing to try," the knight finally affirmed.

"Then it is decided," Józef said, enthusiastic about brokering his first contract as king. "I will help you to find the egg, and in return, you shall escort me to Tiahuanaco."

Bram nodded. "Very well, I agree to those terms."

Józef stopped short of clapping his hands together. He did not want to appear too eager. "Excellent. I will inform Konrad at once!"

He led Bram from the private conference room, so he could find his father's top advisor. Halfway to his chambers, he found the scrawny man walking briskly down the corridor, trying to keep up with another gentleman in a high-ranking uniform.

"Your Majesty," Konrad saluted formally, as soon as he made eye contact. He took a deep bow.

"Your Majesty," the second man echoed with a much more subtle bow.

"What is it, Konrad?" Józef wondered. "Were you looking for me?"

"Yes, Sire. We just learned that Matthias the Gray has disappeared. I sent several units to find him, but he seems to have …" Konrad hesitated, as if unsure how to break the news. "He seems to have taken Angela's body with him."

Józef's heart sank … Angela was _gone_. The euphoria from his victorious negotiation with Bram quickly dissipated, leaving him hollow inside. "Leave him be," he said, trying hard to keep his voice steady. "By now, he should be leagues away from the city. You will not find him."

The other official interjected. "Is Your Majesty certain he wants a rogue wizard on the loose, knowing what he does about our Network? I believe we can catch up with him, assuming we put the right wizards to the task."

"Do not underestimate him," Józef warned. "Angela told me of his powers. He can handle both white and black magic better than most other wizards. Besides …" Józef struggled not to tear up, "he has a right to bury her himself."

The official made a grunt, and his voice dripped with insincerity. "If that is your decree, Your Majesty, we will of course place our security in your hands."

Konrad stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "Captain, I believe His Lordship has spoken. You would do well not to mock the will of the king."

"You misunderstand, Mister Rommel," the captain responded, his voice subtly condescending. "I am merely performing my duties as Minister of Security. It is my job to advise His Majesty of potential risks."

"He is right to be concerned, Konrad," Józef added, feeling it important to stay neutral. He turned to address his Minister of Security with much more confidence in his voice. "However, Captain, you need not worry about Matthias the Gray. He is an honorable man, and I shall hold myself personally accountable for any of his future actions."

He then faced to Bram. "By the way, we have rudely excluded our new guest. Sir Morrison, please allow me to introduce Captain Heinz Unruh, my Minister of Security."

"Sir Knight," the captain greeted coldly. Bram nodded politely.

"Sir Morrison and I have been discussing next steps," Józef explained. "We have negotiated a deal whereby he shall escort me and a team of men across Mount Abakai, to the Koban capital. We intend to warn Emperor Zhao Peng of Angkor's aggression, and enlist his aid in liberating Rungholt."

Captain Unruh groaned, and his face held a forced smile. "Your Majesty, perhaps you should have consulted with your ministry first? We are the nation's top strategists, and we owe our advice to you."

The captain spoke more tactfully this time around, but Józef understood his intention was still to criticize the decision. Józef stood tall and confident. "These _expert strategists_ are also among the slowest to arrive at consensus. We need decisive action, and I am convinced that enlisting Koba's aid is our best course."

Unruh cleared his throat. "No offense to present company, My Lord, but are you sure you can trust this … this _Gnostic_?"

The captain uttered the word with bitterness. As a veteran of the War, he had no doubt witnessed firsthand some of the atrocities these knights had committed.

"Sir Morrison is no longer in Angkor's service, Captain," Józef argued, "and I believe him to be trustworthy."

Unruh sighed. His face was composed, but stone cold. "Your Majesty appears to have made up his mind. I will of course support you in every way, but I do require that you follow the appropriate protocols regarding the chain of command. For you to leave our country in its time of crisis, we will need a leader to defend our Network—in case the enemy attacks prior to your return, of course."

"I have already made a decision in this matter," Józef stated, making it clear that it would not be debated, "and I have chosen Konrad to rule in my stead."

Unruh's face darkened. "Of course, Your Majesty," he said with a bow.

"And Captain," Józef added, "please see to it that I receive several of your best men for the journey."

Before the captain had a chance to respond, Konrad spoke up. "Your Majesty, please allow me to accompany you as well—at least to the base of the mountain. I must know that you made it that far."

"Your Majesty," Unruh begged, "if you wish to have Mister Rommel accompany you, at least choose another to rule while he is absent. I fear that the structure of our nation is fragile enough without having to delegate command through multiple levels of leadership!"

"I will not be gone more than a few days, Captain," Konrad promised. "Surely you can ensure the safety of the Network until then. I have faith in our security protocols, and feel certain that there will be no danger in the short term."

Unruh tightened his lips. His face seemed to plead for Józef to change his mind.

"I agree with Konrad," the young king affirmed. "He should accompany me, at least until I reach Mount Abakai. Now, unless you require something else, we should prepare to move forward."

"Very well, My Lord." Unruh bowed a final time, but his cheeks had turned bright red. He turned on his heel, walking rapidly in the other direction.

Once the captain was out of earshot, Józef exhaled a stale breath. "Thanks for standing up for me, Konrad. I still have much to learn when it comes to addressing my ministers."

"Your Majesty deserves more respectful servants than the captain," Konrad disparaged.

"No. I am fortunate to have these loyal men in my service." Józef paused, hoping it sounded like something his father would have said. "Now come," he announced. "I have much to tell you about my plans. I will explain on the way."


	47. Chapter 4: Part IX

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* * *

**Part IX**

_Afternoon of Somnus, Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

As he took his bath and changed clothes, Cedric thought about how he could concoct a compelling enough reason to request an appointment with King Richard. He knew the man was busy, and would only deviate from his agenda if the topic were sufficiently important. Cedric decided the best way to find a reason would be to visit his Zounds prototype, located deep underground in the bottom-most level of the Substratum.

On most mornings, Cedric stayed in his office, where he awaited a report from his foreman, a younger man named Connor. Connor would present the detailed progress of construction on all sections of the ship, but this time Cedric wanted to see the project for himself. At the same time, he planned to conduct an inspection, which was required to move on to the next phase. That way, he could invent an excuse that would convince his king to spare some time.

Cedric first stopped by his office to pick up the latest schematics, along with other materials needed for the inspection. Clouds obscured the sun that morning, and the chill of an early winter bit at his ears. He pulled his overcoat tighter while carrying an armful of papers. These were not originals, but rather copies that his scribes had made the previous day. He would leave them with Connor after the inspection, so that construction could begin first thing Primoris morning. Cedric knew his staff would be putting in overtime on Somnus, so he expected the hangar to be busy.

On his way across the courtyard, he noted with curiosity that the walkways were empty. It was just like the day he met with Rosa. Not a single person walked the streets, not even the Templars, who should have been on duty at the time.

Of course, the same could not be said for the Substratum. Once he passed through the entrance, he found security to be unexpectedly tight. The presence of the king combined with fear of Kitezhian insurgents must have driven the Templars to raise the alert level. It took some time for him to explain the reasons behind his unannounced visit before they allowed him to enter—and even then, they mandated an escort. The precautions seemed excessive, especially since Cedric's position among the palace staff was well known.

About midway down the Substratum's circular stairwell, the first Templar guard handed him off to a second man. Cedric did not appreciate the delay, which involved nearly twenty minutes of additional security protocol. Once the guards were satisfied he did not carry anything suspicious—and validated his name and credentials for the hundredth time—they finally set off for the hangar. Cedric felt obliged to at least pose a sensible question.

"I can appreciate the heavy scrutiny down here in the Substratum, but aren't you aware that the posts along the surface seem to be unmanned?"

He received no response, and thinking the man might not have heard him, he tried again.

"Excuse me, sir. I understand increased security around the king, but I walked through the courtyard this morning without seeing a single sentry. Is there a reason behind the lack of security on the surface?"

Again, the guardsman refused to answer, so Cedric gave up and walked the rest of the way in silence. Something seemed wrong. Templars were not exactly chatty, but he had yet to meet one so rude as to give him the silent treatment, especially after he pointed out a legitimate gap in their security. Perhaps they disliked being told how to do their job, just as much as he did.

After reaching the hangar, he saw a bustling of people and machinery that far exceeded his expectations. He knew the hangar would be busy, but it seemed as if the work staff had tripled since his last visit, including many faces he did not recognize. As he stared confusedly at the sea of strangers, he heard his foreman Connor calling his name from behind.

"Mista Curtis," he repeated in his thick, East Angkorian accent, "I'm sorry to have missed ya earlier. I stopped by your office, but ya didn't seem to be in."

"No, I've been … busy," Cedric responded, trying to avoid having to reveal his overnight detention by Captain Chaucer. "But forget about all that. I'm here now, and we must work quickly to make up for lost time. The design was supposed to have been moved to the next phase already, so we're behind schedule. But before we begin, can you please explain the commotion down here?"

Connor looked at Cedric oddly before responding. "Ya mean the additional workers, sir?"

"Yes, I never asked for any new technicians."

The foreman raised his eyebrows. "They came a few days ago. We were told the contractors would help to accelerate the schedule. To be honest, I'm quite surprised ya didn't know about it."

Cedric frowned. He disliked it greatly when bureaucrats from the king's staff meddled in his work. "Who gave the orders?" he demanded.

Connor took a step back. "I don't recall the chap's name, Mista Curtis, but he had all the right papers with the king's seal an' all. I had no reason to question them."

Cedric sighed, considering his words. He did not need to take out his frustration on his poor foreman. "I don't suppose I can blame King Richard for wanting to get the prototype finished quickly, but some things just can't be rushed—and it does no good to go over my head!"

Connor cast his eyes downward, scuffing his work boots across the cavern floor. It was something he was known to do when feeling nervous. Cedric knew his foreman meant well and did a fine job, so he softened his tone.

"Oh, I don't mean to hold you responsible, Connor. You had no way of knowing. Let's just leave this for now and concentrate on the report."

"Yes, sir," the young man returned with higher spirits. "We've completed the second stage of construction, and the unit should be ready for the final stage. Pending an inspection, of course. I'm happy to report that the matter that we spoke of last week has been resolved. We fixed it by distributing the weight more toward aft. Not much else has changed. Everyone's been working real hard. With war brewing again, we all have good reason, eh?"

Cedric nodded uneasily. "That's excellent news, Conner. I came prepared to conduct that inspection today, if you don't mind getting things ready."

"Of course, Mista Curtis! Should I send everyone on break?"

"Yes, please do."

Connor put his thumb and forefinger to his mouth and whistled loudly. He gave the workers a few moments to finish what they were doing before sending them on their evening break a bit early. Being far underground, the men were used to bringing meals already prepared. They gathered in a corner of the cavern, where some tables had been set up for eating.

After the room cleared, Connor approached Cedric and spoke in a sotto voce. "Since you were unaware of the new contractors, I should probably inform you of some _other_ changes we've been asked to make."

Cedric felt his heightened blood pressure return. He frowned, and his eyes squeezed into narrow slits. "_What_ changes …?"

Connor bit his lip, but seemed willing to divulge the details. "It involves the addition of 'black boxes', sir." Cedric recognized the term as referring to design elements whose functions were kept hidden to those who implemented them. Already he grew nervous. No details should ever be kept from the project manager, especially when it came to the addition of mystery features on a complex project like Zounds.

Connor continued. "I've noticed that they were added to the newest copies of the schematics—the ones we received from the king's messenger. While we don't know the functions for these devices, we do know their dimensions, and where to place them on the craft. The changes are subtle and don't affect the weight to a point where we'd need to be concerned. However, we've been instructed to have the new parts be completed by the new contractors, _not _by our own men_._"

Cedric felt his blood boil. "This is outrageous!" he spat, while beginning to pace the floor. "In my life, I've had to face many insults; but I'll be damned if I allow someone to change _this_ design from under my nose!"

Connor raised his hands defensively. "Believe me—I would've told ya sooner had I any reason to believe ya didn't already know. In fact, I'm still quite surprised about it. Who coulda made these changes, except for you? Ya don't suspect subterfuge … do ya?"

"I don't know, Connor. But I intend to find out! In the meantime, continue your work. There might yet be a reasonable explanation."

Connor looked relieved. "Well said, sir. Let me show you the new schematics."

"Yes, I would like to see these changes myself. Here, take these as well." Cedric handed Connor the plans he had been carrying. He would spend the necessary time to resolve the issue, and then he would confront King Richard. He now had the reason he was looking for.


	48. Chapter 4: Part X

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* * *

**Part X**

_Afternoon of Somnus, Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Józef led Bram through a tunnel that emerged from the side of a bluff, half a league east of Rungholt. He was joined by Konrad and a full squad of escorts—seven well-armed soldiers, two white wizards, and a couple of scouts. Konrad had refused to accept any fewer than these, and only after Józef had convinced him to be moderate. The young king had experience from many sojourns out of the country, and it taught him the benefit of traveling light.

The scouts went ahead to check for Angkorians lurking in the distance, but as soon as the area was cleared, he asked Bram to lead him to Géorg's sandskipper, which was nestled in a stone quarry further south.

Bram was greeted with wide smiles full of relief. As soon as the knight approached, a young girl who he later introduced as Uriana ran up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. A man with one arm greeted him as well. He was introduced as Géorg Töller, whom it turned out had fought in the Kitezhian army when Józef's father reigned. He was visibly saddened to hear that Henrich Brandt had perished in the attack, but he welcomed Józef as the rightful heir.

Bram made his way to a woman who lay sleeping under some blankets in the bed of the sandskipper. She was the one he referred to as Rosa. Her face looked peaceful, even though she was supposedly infected with a magical toxin. Bram explained that the magic of the gray wizard Matthias kept it at bay until they found a cure—but there was no telling for how long. Józef asked his two white wizards to tend to her, and ensure that she was otherwise healthy.

With introductions over, he urged the group onward. He was anxious to be far from the Angkorian occupation on his city. Not just because he feared running into nearby patrols, but also because he was eager to reach Koba, and return to his kinsmen with reinforcements. Géorg started the engines of his sandskipper, and they were soon off. To help compensate for the heavy load, the white wizards used their magic to give the craft extra lift and maneuverability. Occasionally, someone sighted an airship in the distance, but Géorg was able to find cover behind nearby trees and rock formations.

Once they were far enough into the countryside, Józef led them to a small farm, where he knew of a place to rest and eat safely. In between fields of corn and potatoes was a small and inconspicuous white farmhouse. An older couple answered the door, understandably surprised to see the heir of Kitezh and his ragtag group. He explained the attack and death of his father, and the couple wept for the loss. They said that word had already traveled of Rungholt's attack, but the details were sparse. Józef quickly laid out their need for food and rest before their journey, and the man and woman were happy to accommodate.

"Sven and Marta are members of a family that has been loyal to us for generations," he explained to Bram and Géorg. "Sven's uncle worked at the palace until he passed away two summers ago, and Marta's sister knew my mother personally."

The Gnostic Knight felt it noteworthy to comment on the differences between Kitezhian and Angkorian rank. Apparently, few within Angkor's nobility socialized outside of their own class. Józef had no way to relate. In Kitezh, few looked down on working families, knowing how necessary they were to the livelihood of the nation.

"Please, make yourself at home," Sven offered. "We have a loft where you can rest."

"And how about you, child?" Marta asked, directing her question to Uriana. The young girl still clung to Bram's arm. "Are you hungry? I would be delighted to cook you something."

"No," she answered, burying her face in Gnostic armor.

Bram took her fondly by the shoulders, kneeling to speak to her at an equal level. "I think you should eat," he suggested. "You might not get another chance after we leave." Józef continued to be impressed with the knight's demeanor.

Marta stepped forward with a smile and held her hand out patiently. Uriana hesitated, but eventually allowed the matronly woman to lead her into the kitchen. Bram joined with Konrad and Géorg in a separate room to discuss the best route to the marshes, where they would search for Rosa's cure. Feeling drowsy, Józef headed to the loft to get some rest. The day's events had left him exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

He laid down on a small mattress, staring upward at the thatched ceiling. He thought about how futile it was to try to stop a kingdom so powerful that two powerful countries had failed to defeat them during the War. The display of optimism he had given earlier—the same façade he had showed all day—was waning fast. He merely thought it his responsibility to think positively. He was, after all, the heir of Kitezh—even though it was quickly becoming a burden too heavy to bear. As his mind wandered, his confidence sank.

"Everyone trusts in me," he mused as he drifted into sleep. "How would I live with myself if I let them down … like I did with Angela?"

With her name on his mind, his thoughts wandered to fond memories of a trip to Lake Derfriedlich in Kitezh's western province. He and Angela had been there just a week earlier. It was an incredibly peaceful bank overlooking a lake with an inexplicably placid surface, reflecting the surrounding mountains like a mirror. As a boy, he used to pretend that a passage to another world existed on the other side. He wrote a ballad about it, which he played on his lute. Angela lay by his side, still laughing at his joke from earlier. Golden sunshine cascaded off her delicate auburn curls.

Feeling the damp grass against his back, he relaxed to the sound of gossiping birds. It was late summer, when warm and pleasant air rolled into the glen. Tall and spindly pines textured the smoothly sloped valley walls. He watched the clouds as they curled in the shapes of exotic beasts, or so he liked to imagine. Angela announced their names as she found them.

"Cockatrice … minotaur … nymph …."

"That one looks like a viscar," he proclaimed, pointing upward. He wanted Angela to see it, too, but when he turned to face her, she was gone.

His smile faded. "I failed you," he admitted to the pantheon of puffy white beasts floating above him. The memory of her passing was still strongly imprinted on his mind. "I promised to protect you, but failed when you needed me most."

As his heart sank, the scenery shifted. Clouds rolled in, blocking out the sunlight and casting a dark veil over the valley. A light drizzle spoiled the lake's mirror surface.

"You trusted me, Angela, and look what happened. How can I be trusted to protect my kingdom, when I could not even save you?"

The vista drained of color, turning drab and gloomy. Fog rose from the surface of the lake, clawing upward in spidery tendrils.

"What will happen if I return from Koba too late? If Angkor discovers our Network, so many more will die because of me."

The grassy hills turned an ugly brown, and the lake's clear surface darkened with grime.

"I failed my father, and my country. I do not deserve to be king."

He was so consumed in self-pity that he never noticed the world transforming around him. With his head buried between his arms and knees, he wept bitterly. Had it not been for the icy chill that blew across his neck, causing the hairs to stand on edge, he would have still been engrossed in tears.

He looked up, and for the first time saw the morbid perversion of what had just been a beautiful portrait. In its place was a hideous cesspool, surrounded by banks of silt and mud. He was filled with such shock and dismay that he stood up without thinking. His soft shoes slipped on the slick surface, and he lost his balance. He tumbled down the hill, landing in the black boggy water.

His placed his hands in front to brace against the impact, but they sunk deep into the earthy substance at the bottom. He twisted in the icy cold water, struggling to stand upright. He brought his hands to his face and tried wiping away the filthy paste, but it only left muddy smears across his lips and cheeks. He spat out the fetid substance, gagging from the odious taste and slimy texture polluting his mouth. The harsh wind once again blew across his neck, raising goose bumps along his flesh. But this time it carried a faint voice.

"Józef …."

"Angela!" he screamed, instantly recognizing her sweet voice. But it sounded hollow and empty, just like the rest of the dusky fen.

At first he thought it was his imagination, but then he struggled to make his way back to the barren mound to get a better view. He worked his feet, but his shoes were stuck deep in the mud. He saw a figure in the distance. She was mostly obscured by the fog, but he was almost certain he recognized her.

"Angela!"

If the figure heard him, she merely stood there waiting, until a layer of white mist obscured her completely from view.

Leaving his shoes behind in the mud, he slipped out to follow the figure deeper into the oozy waters.

"Angela!" he cried, begging her to respond, wanting more than anything to feel her soft skin and hear her speak his name one last time.

Each step took him deeper into the murky sediment, but he failed to close the distance. Before long, he found himself chest-deep and unable to see the shore behind him. He turned around, disoriented, seeing only endless black sludge in all directions.

He stopped to gather his thoughts, now more worried about finding a way out, than about finding the figure who always stood at the edge of the fog, no matter how far he advanced.

"_Józef!_" a voice screeched. It was ghastly and wicked, the sound of a banshee.

"What are you?" he challenged in a wavering tone filled with fear and revilement.

"Doubt … regret … guilt … despair …."

"Why do you haunt me, spirit? Why do you lead me into these waters to torment me?"

"Inquire within, spoiled prince," the grisly voice responded. "You entered my embrace because it comforts you."

"You mock me?" he challenged. "I have no love for this twisted nightmare. I will awaken soon and continue my journey as before!"

The voice cackled with delight. "You—who called yourself a failure only moments ago—dare to continue your journey? You are _delusional_."

"I … I know what I said," he admitted. "It will be difficult, but I must still try!"

"Try all you want," the voice jeered. "It changes nothing."

Józef started to believe the voice. It told him what he knew in his heart was true. His father had failed to stand firm against Angkor, and his father had plenty of help. But he was neither as strong nor as experienced as the former king. He was a boy in regal robes, only pretending to have hope. Angkor had the power of the sunstones, and he was helpless to stand against it.

As he dwelled on his impending doom, he found himself sinking deeper into the water. The aqueous effluvia rose to his neck, its noxious vapors numbing his body. His head became airy, and his body felt as if inside the deadly embrace referred to by the ghastly voice. But he did not fight it. It felt, perhaps, that a watery grave might be preferable to facing the trials of the waking world. When the water reached his ears, he closed his eyes, ready and eager to be enveloped by it.

"Józef …."

No! He could no longer face the taunting voice! Better to sink into a watery grave and forget about the suffering that awaited him in the waking world.

"Józef, open your eyes," a far more pleasant voice called out.

He did, and saw an apparition floating above the water. It was Angela! He had sunk to the point where it was a struggle just to look at her. She wore a bright white robe that flowed in an unseen breeze. Her skin was fair and unmarked, and her face radiated beauty, like the goddess she truly was.

"Take my hand," she instructed.

Józef reached out with muddy fingers, trying to grasp her delicate transparent hands.

A bright light flashed as soon as he made contact, blinding him in a sea of white. By the time his eyes adjusted, he found himself on the shore of the lake, its pristine and mirror-like surface fully restored.

Angela floated by his side, her feet a short distance above the ground. Her body glowed with a white hue.

"You're a ghost?" he asked.

"I'm a memory," she responded.

"You saved me. Why?"

Angela's memory regarded him sadly. "You saved yourself, Józef. For a while, you thought it would be easier to give up. But at the last moment, you thought of me, and it gave you strength and hope."

A memory from Angkor's attack suddenly entered his mind. He wanted to forget the pain, but something important hung just at the edge of consciousness.

"I am sorry," he apologized, "but I do not deserve any kind of praise."

"Think back," she pleaded. "You must remember your promise."

In a rush, it all came flooding back. In the last moments with Angela in the garden room of the palace, there was an explosion. It knocked him against the wall. Dazed and disoriented, he stood up, unable to focus. She pushed him out of the way just before a stone column collapsed. Had it not been for her, he would not have made it out alive. He made a promise to himself that her sacrifice would not be in vain.

His head sank into his hands. Tears streamed from his eyes. "I owe you my life."

"My life is already over, my love," she answered. "You duty now is to your people. You must honor those who have placed their trust in you."

He shook his head. "I want to, I really do … but to win against Angkor? I am not my father, Angela. I do not know how!"

"Have you learned nothing?" she scolded. "You already possess all the necessary skills, through the tutors and lessons your father provided for you. It may be your first time applying the knowledge, but you must believe that you can follow your father's rule."

Indeed, Józef had been schooled by the best tutors in the nation, and given every opportunity to prepare for his duties. Ironically, it had meant so little at the time, but he needed those skills now more than ever. He truly was a spoiled prince, but it was finally time to grow up.

Angela seemed to sense his thoughts and she looked pleased. She approached and placed her hand along his cheek, smiling. "You are so dear to me, Józef. Ever since I met you, I knew you were a strong man with a good heart. That's why I can't bear to see you doubt."

"Angela …" he paused, trying to find the right words. "I know this is not real. This lake, the valley … it is something I conjured in my own mind. But you are different. I believe you came to help me, Angela. Please tell me that you will always be here when I need you."

The apparition smiled, and slowly returned to the shore of the lake. "I'm always with you, my love," she said as she swung slowly around to face him. "The best way to honor my memory is to follow your instincts. You must believe in yourself, even if we never see each other again in the flesh."

"Wait … please! I have not been the same since you left me." More tears streamed from his eyes. "I need to know that you will always be here for me, at our special place!"

"Farewell, Józef. Please don't cry for me. Remember what I said …."

Angela walked backwards along the surface of the lake, hovering slightly above the water's surface. As she reached the center, her body disappeared. The water was placid once again. Józef returned to his usual spot, where his lute was waiting for him. Cradling it in his arms, he played Angela's song, strumming each note lovingly until he was lulled into a deep sleep.


	49. Chapter 4: Part XI

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* * *

**Part XI**

_Afternoon of Somnus, Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Cedric spent hours looking over the amended airship specifications with his foreman, Connor. The "black box" alterations did not affect the integrity of the design or violate any engineering principles. In fact, they were completely benign, and he had no good reason to object to them. Except, their functions were still a mystery—and of course, he had not made the changes himself. Still, it was enough of a reason to raise the issue to King Richard.

"Well, that about wraps things up," he announced.

"Then what'll ya do about the changes?" Connor asked.

Instead of answering the question, Cedric posed one of his own. "Were you treated to any stricter than usual security this morning?"

"Aye, we were escorted down here by the Templars. Ya must know the king is in the Substratum today?"

Cedric decided to play it coy. "Oh, really? How fortunate! It would be perfect if I might have some time to speak with him about these devices."

Connor sighed. "That might be difficult, given all the security. The Templars won't want to take any chances, given the recent attacks, eh?"

Cedric's eyes narrowed. "All the same, it'd be a pity to miss such an opportunity. If we have no idea about the functionality of the black boxes, it could lead to mistakes, further down the road. Such a thing would put the entire project at risk."

Connor frowned. He gestured toward a guardsman waiting by the archway to the stairwell. "See that gent over there? He's been keeping an eye on us all day long, and hasn't let a single one of us leave without an escort. I'm afraid you won't have much of a chance getting past him."

Cedric went in for the clincher. "Not unless you help me, Connor."

The foreman regarded him skeptically. "What do ya think _I_ can do?"

Cedric wore a confident smirk. "Distract the guard. Tell him you think you see someone wandering around who isn't part of your team. Ask him to check it out."

Connor's eyes went wide. "You want me to lie? He won't be happy if he finds out I've wasted his time. I don't want to get punished."

Cedric waved his hand. "That won't happen. Just tell him you mistook one of the new contractors. Surely you aren't familiar with _all_ the new faces …."

Connor drew a deep breath and scratched his head nervously. "Do ya really think it'll help the project?"

Cedric smiled broadly. "I guarantee it."

Connor scrunched his face in deep thought. After a few moments, he nodded—and with a casual saunter, headed toward his mark. Cedric made himself appear to be looking at documents, but from the corner of his eye he watched as Connor pointed to the back of the hangar. When the Templar left the archway unattended, Cedric dashed for the stairs.

As he ascended the vertical passage to the higher levels, it occurred to him that his plan had not taken much else into consideration. Now that he was free of the hangar, he had no idea how to find Richard without being seen. The king was somewhere above him, but surely he would be surrounded by Templars who would quickly escort Cedric out of the compound. Though he was a well-respected member of Richard's staff, the Templars answered to no one other than the king. He had to think of a better plan—and do it quickly!

He listened carefully for footsteps. The Substratum's central stairwell was notorious for the echoing clamor of boots on stone, and came with no easy places to hide. But strangely, the long vertical shaft was dead silent. He reached the operations level without encountering a single Templar—even though the stairs had been crawling with them earlier.

The operations level was where the War Room was located, a place where Monarchs and generals had met since the Substratum's early days. Cedric hoped Richard was already there, being briefed by his top brass. He expected to see men of various rank in hallway conversations, officers in between meetings, or at least the occasional lieutenant being sent on an errand—but instead, the halls were empty. It seemed inconceivable that the king was discussing battle strategies against Kitezh, when zero military personnel were nearby.

Cedric crept silently through the hallway, wondering if the occupants were all behind closed doors. He leaned next to a few, hoping to overhear their conversations. Eerily, he heard nothing. He felt bold enough to enter one of the offices, only to find it deserted. Bewildered and more than a bit frustrated, he tried a few others. Some of the doors were locked, but others led to more vacant rooms. Not only were they unoccupied, but they appeared to have not been used recently. A thin layer of dust had settled on some of the furniture, giving Cedric a spooky feeling.

At last, he reached the War Room. It was a large conference chamber with an oval table, maps along the walls, and various props to be used for contemplating strategy. But just like the other rooms, it was deserted. He sat down in one of the chairs and considered the possibility that he might be losing his mind. Then he heard the clomping of boots on stone. Seeing no immediate place to hide, he dove under the table and waited for the footsteps to recede. As soon as he dared, he crawled out and followed the sounds down the hall.

The passerby must have been in a hurry. Cedric moved quickly to keep up, gliding as silently as possible. The footsteps led him back to the central stairway and further up the compound. He stayed far enough behind to ensure he would not be noticed. Fortunately, the person did little to conceal the sound of their movement.

The pursuit took him up to the training level, where the most talented recruits from the Academy vied for positions in the king's elite forces, and were taught by veteran soldiers and wizards. The largest of these rooms was an arena that was set up for the students to practice their moves. As soon as Cedric exited the stairwell, he crept along the wall, and peeked around the corner of an adjacent corridor. He saw his mark approach the training arena's entrance and knock.

A second man answered the door, quickly stepping outside and shutting the door behind him. "You're sure there's no one lurking on the lower floors?" he asked.

"I just checked," the first man responded. "The only men left in the Substratum are the contractors in the hangar, who are working on the top-secret project. Don't worry. They're being monitored closely."

"Fine, then hurry inside. The ritual is about to begin." Both men quickly reentered the room and shut the door behind them.

Cedric stood with his back against the wall, completely befuddled. The top-secret project had to be Zounds, no doubt—but a _ritual_? What in the Goddess's name was going on? Security in the Substratum had been off the charts a few hours earlier, but now the place was deserted. He wondered if something was wrong with the king. Sensing something terribly wrong, he felt it vital to find out what was behind that door.

He knew of a passage nearby. Close to the training arena was a small closet used to store frequently accessed tools and supplies, such as weapons and armor for the new recruits. At the end of the closet was a wooden hatch leading to a mezzanine level. Suspended high above the training room floor was a catwalk made from a metal grill that spanned the perimeter of the room. Trainers would use the catwalk to hang props for their students to target with weapons or magic. It was wide enough for Cedric to get a good vantage point from inside the room, without revealing himself.

It did not take long to find his way to this well-hidden position. From the catwalk, he saw a room packed shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of Templars, knights, and soldiers. They all faced the back side of the room, where a stage had been erected. It explained why the Substratum had been so busy earlier, only to end up completely barren. It likely included the guards patrolling aboveground as well, explaining the emptiness of the courtyard earlier.

They were all chanting in some kind of foreign language. It sounded a lot like, "_Ah, Reh, Men_," and the men below shouted it repeatedly.

Ah, Reh, Men! Ah, Reh, Men!

A man appeared on the stage. To Cedric's surprise, it was Richard Cromwell. The king of Angkor spoke to the men in what appeared to be the same foreign tongue. While the words sounded strange to Cedric, the men below seemed to understand perfectly, offering cheers in response.

Ah, Reh, Men! Ah, Reh, Men!

Cedric was filled with both fear and curiosity. It felt like a bad dream—dangerous, but also confusing and nonsensical. In no time, the king concluded his strange speech, and the crowd raised their arms, cheering louder and more enthusiastically than before.

Ah, Reh, Men! Ah, Reh, Men! Ah, Reh, Men!

When the cheers subsided, a man from the audience joined Richard on stage. He carried a tray with a white cloth covering some sort of object. Cedric squinted to see, but he was too far away. When the man reached the king, he turned, and the light exposed a familiar face. It was none other than the king's new First Advisor, Virgil Garvey. Cedric caught his breath. Trouble seemed to follow that man wherever he went.

King Richard removed the cloth and handed it back to Virgil. Underneath was a clear-colored gemstone, cut in a marquise shape, carefully balanced on one edge. The king grasped the gem, and waited for Virgil to leave the stage. Then, turning to the audience, he shouted words that sounded like magic. The soldiers cheered him on.

Ah, Reh, Men! Ah, Reh, Men! Ah, Reh, Men!

Richard raised the gemstone, and it turned a deep sapphire-blue. Like a nightmare, Cedric watched as his king transformed. The monarch's body twisted and changed, slowly growing to many times its size. His skin turned scaly and gray, and thick horns grew out from his head and chest. The regal robes disintegrated, and in the place of the man for whom Cedric had sworn undying fealty, a gargantuan hulking creature stood.

It sat on all four limbs, with forearms disproportionately thicker than its hind legs. The body was long, like a salamander's, with the tail of a fish. Gills ran up its elongated neck, ending at rows of sharp teeth within a mouth that stretched from ear to ear. The head could have passed as a mutilated but nonetheless vicious shark, except that the upper half was a grotesque facsimile of the former king. The abomination took a deep breath and blew it onto the crowd. From its mouth came blue smoke, which the soldiers blissfully inhaled.

Cedric had seen enough. Shaking uncontrollably, he backed up and left the mezzanine level. Once he returned to the storage closet, he stopped to catch his breath. He felt nauseous, and every pore of his body seemed to ooze cold sweat. His life, his career, his country—he was ready to cast them all aside, just to escape the abominable evil that stood on the other side of a thin rock wall. He had to focus his energy on escaping the Substratum, and then Angkor altogether.

Although, he was afraid that if anyone discovered him on his way out, it would cost him his life. So he searched the room for something he could use in self-defense. There were weapons stored along the walls for new recruits, but he needed to find something he knew how to wield. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed a crossbow from its mount, and left the storage closet in haste. As soon as he stepped out onto the main level, he ran head first into a familiar face—his lawyer.

"Oh thank Gaia, William, it's you! I …" Cedric's voice trailed off. Next to his lawyer stood Virgil Garvey, wearing a smug grin. The fear and nausea quickly returned.

"Oh, Cedric," his lawyer began, shaking his head.

"It's like I told you," Virgil spoke up, donning a look of disapproval. "We've caught the traitor just in time."

"Traitor?" Cedric exclaimed, his fear replaced with anger. "I don't know what lies you've concocted, but they won't save you this time. I've seen what you've done, and you won't get away with it!" He pointed his finger accusingly. "You and your demonic magic will bring this country to ruin!"

"You have quite an imagination, Mister Curtis," Virgil returned with a healthy dose of condescension. "Of course, I suspect you'd say almost anything, now that we've caught you red-handed."

Cedric's eyes bulged, fury burning in his gut. "What are you talking about, you fink? You're the one who will pay for the dark wizardry you've brought to our kingdom!"

Virgil's façade was calm, but his eyes overflowed with contempt. "I grow tired of your stories, Mister Curtis. Your own lawyer came to warn us that you went against his advice not to speak with His Majesty today. And it's a good thing he did."

Cedric almost doubled over. His eyes went straight for his lawyer. "William!"

The lawyer took a step back. "I'm sorry, Mister Curtis. I felt compelled to report your strange behavior. I was concerned!"

Cedric did not know whom to address first. Virgil stood there basking in an aura of disgusting arrogance, while his own lawyer had just stabbed him in the back. And Richard—a trustworthy and honorable man who he strongly believed would always stand by his side—was now transformed into a hideous force that defied his own imagination. Cedric could not help but fumble on his own words. "You … you won't get away with this! King Richard is right behind this wall, and there are hundreds of witnesses who can verify what I saw!"

Virgil dismissed him with a curt wave. "You mean the brave soldiers who will be going to war to defend our nation? Your excuses are irrelevant, since every single one of these 'witnesses' will tell us that the king is merely bidding our men farewell before they depart to the battlefields."

The sheer audacity of the lies left Cedric's speechless. How could Virgil be sure that every single soldier would cover up the lie? Were they all spellbound? Was the sunstone controlling their minds? Surely his lawyer would not believe any of it. "William, you must listen to me! I'll prove it to you!"

His lawyer shifted his eyes uneasily between the dueling cabinet members. "What exactly is Mister Curtis being charged with?" he inquired to Virgil.

"Isn't it obvious?" the loathsome man responded. "First, Mister Curtis gets mixed up with the concubine of one of the king's Gnostics, who's a known Kitezhian spy and traitor …."

Cedric bared his teeth at the insults, but the wretch continued. "Then he invites a man of known Kitezhian descent to his home, who I might add was also a wanted criminal …."

Cedric wanted to scream in outrage over what happened to Mason Eckerd, but Virgil pressed on. "And then, he insists on seeing King Richard against his own lawyer's advice. And now, we catch him as he emerges from a weapons locker on a hidden mezzanine level, above where the king is meeting with our nation's soldiers. For the Goddess' sake, he's holding a crossbow, my good man! It's only logical to conclude that Mister Curtis is working with the Kitezhian government to assassinate our king."

Cedric looked down at the weapon in his hands, and threw it aside. "You bastard!" he growled, lunging toward Virgil's throat with his own outstretched hands. The First Advisor casually raised his hand, stopping the Grand Craftsman in his tracks with an unseen force.

Virgil sighed. "You've doomed yourself by your own actions, Mister Curtis. Perhaps a few days in the dungeon will cool your temper, convince you to give up your Kitezhian ties, and admit to your treasonous acts." By then, a number of Templars had gathered in the corridor, and Virgil motioned for them to apprehend the Grand Craftsman.

He tried to move, but his joints were frozen in place by Virgil's magic. The guardsmen grabbed his arms and forced them behind his back. His lawyer only shook his head in disgust as Cedric was detained.

"No, wait! William, I'm innocent!" he screamed, but his lawyer followed Virgil down the corridor, impervious to any reasoning.

The guards forced Cedric toward the stairwell, leading him downward to the dungeons. He screamed objections, spat angry invectives at Virgil, and ranted about the monster-king, but it all fell on deaf ears as he was dragged down into the abyss.


	50. Chapter 4: Part XII

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* * *

**Part XII**

_Night of Somnus, Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

When night fell, Józef Brandt led his companions eastward in search of the den of a dragon weevil. Inside, he hoped to find an egg, whose yoke contained magical enzymes that were known to cure any disease or sickness. It was an old Kitezhian remedy, one which he hoped would cure the magic-induced toxin plaguing Rosa Reynolds, and fulfill his end of the bargain with the Gnostic Knight, Bram Morrison.

He rode with the others atop Géorg Töller's sandskipper for as far as it would take them. His white wizards helped to chart a course along the land's contours, so that Géorg could pilot through the darkness at high speeds. Several times, they ran into nocturnal beasts, such as a basilisk wandering in search of food. Fortunately, the darkness protected those on board from its petrifying gaze. More aggressive spawn such as goblins were dealt with by Józef's soldiers. Bram was also quite experienced in vanquishing these petty creatures, and he offered his assistance on several occasions.

The empty plains soon gave way to cluttered mires with rotted tree stumps and dense undergrowth. When Géorg's sandskipper could travel no further, the party broke into a smaller group, led by Konrad. Józef had to insist on coming along, even though Konrad pled with him to remain at a safe distance. Józef suggested taking Bram, as well as two soldiers and a white wizard. The rest stayed behind to watch over Rosa and Uriana, and to protect the sandskipper. With everything settled, the six men ventured into the swamp in search for the ultimate cure.

The marsh itself spanned ten or more leagues further north and to the east. In spite of the icy weather, the sod would not frost. Many spawn inhabited the area, and some experts speculated that the ground itself could be a living creature. Carnivorous plants dangled innocent vines from trees in hopes that an animal—or person—would brush up against them. Poisonous vipers lay quietly under stagnant water, waiting for prey to come within striking distance. Quicksand was plentiful, proving that even the earth itself could eat a man. Only those familiar with the terrain knew how to make it through alive.

Józef remained cautious throughout the expedition. His father had taken him to the marshes several times as a youth. They hunted rare fowl called windriders—marked by the large plumes of silver feathers that came from their tail. Many of the most affluent Kitezhians made it a sport, albeit a very dangerous one. Even so, Henrich Brandt always seemed to have a hunger for peril. Józef wondered if Konrad relived the same level of anxiety as under his father's reign.

"Your Majesty," Bram whispered from his side. The young king turned to give the knight his full attention. "Tell me which signs I should look for when tracking a dragon weevil."

Józef was happy to share his knowledge. "They are similar to insects. As you already know, they make their nests underground, which will appear to us as mounds of mud. They also molt this time of year, so we may find empty husks where they have left behind their carapaces. They prey on small animals, which they later regurgitate into pellets. They look like shiny stones, but if you crack one open, you will find the carcass inside."

Bram nodded. Meanwhile, the others fanned out slowly, taking care to watch where they stepped. One wrong move and the swamp would devour them in short order. Józef explained how to watch for quicksand, sinkholes, or razorbeetle burrows. Each hazard had its own signs, and the bog had enough of them that the group would likely encounter a few before reaching their destination.

Given the heavy cloud cover, the only light was one that weakly emanated from a magical sphere cast by their young male white wizard. It floated nearby and helped to keep some of the swamp's other dangers at bay. Many of the world's most venomous creatures roamed the marsh at night, but fortunately refused to hunt outside of total darkness.

One of the soldiers found the remains of a dragon weevil shell. Its size and shape quickly identified it as coming from a female, mature enough to lay eggs. The party was overjoyed at the find, but careful to maintain their due diligence.

Another of Józef's men had the misfortune of running into a poisonous plant called a köderbuchse. This unique shrub reproduced by dangling its vines and injecting germ into unsuspecting wildlife. The sticky weed latched onto the soldier's face as he passed by, implanting active spores into his flesh. Fortunately, the white wizard reached him in time to cleanse the infection with his magic. It saved the man's life, but did not stop his screams, as the searing pain of thousands of embryonic cells dug their way into his facial tissue.

Without the aid of magic, the pain would have subsided, but by then the spores would have made their way into the bloodstream. At that point, not even the strongest white wizard had the power to reverse the process. In only a few short days, the plant would take root, feeding on the body until it consumed the blood and organs. Once the body was fully absorbed, the plant would root itself in the ground to continue its cycle to maturity. Reproductive vines would not grow for at least a year afterward, but short of uprooting the entire shrub, they were difficult to eradicate. Fortunately for other wanderers, the East Kitezhian swamplands were one of the few places in the world where they were known to exist.

The group huddled together, worried that the man's screams might have drawn other spawn to their location. The white wizard raised his hand and gave a sharp hiss. "Hold up!" he whispered harshly. "I detect movement."

Bram drew his sword and backed up to cover Józef. Konrad edged close to his king's other side with a long knife, ready to strike.

"They are approaching from multiple sides," the white wizard uttered nervously. "We are surrounded."

"What are they?" Józef asked.

"Blood leeches, sir."

Bram heard curses from the other men. "What are those?" he asked.

"Parasites," Konrad explained, "with a taste for human blood. Not only do they attack in large numbers, but they are also quite cunning. They will try to surround us, and if they jump and latch on, their bite can cause paralysis in seconds."

"Do not be alarmed," Józef assured the others. "I know how to resolve this danger."

Konrad eyed him skeptically. "What do you have in mind, Your Majesty?"

Józef wore a satisfied grin. "Remember what we learned last summer, my friend? They are soothed by music."

The young king removed his backpack and took out his lute. He carried it with him as a remembrance of his time with Angela, but hoped it would now come in handy.

Konrad smiled. "I never thought I would see the day when I would thank the Goddess you brought that with you."

Just then, the slug-like creatures entered their circle of light. They were the size of puppies, with partially developed forward appendages and hind legs coiled back like a frog's, ready to pounce. Their mouths were filled with sharp teeth, large enough to bite through flesh.

"Quickly, Your Majesty!" Konrad urged.

Cradling the lute in his arms, Józef strummed his fingers gracefully across the strings, sending sweet melodies into their air. The blood leeches swayed from side to side, quickly becoming docile. They looked as if they had sunk into a mental stupor, drunk on the lute's graceful notes.

"Whatever you're doing, keep it up," Bram told him.

"Quick, over here!" The last interjection came from one of Józef's soldiers. Bram and the others headed in his direction. Józef followed, but kept playing.

The soldier pointed to a mound of mud that looked as if it had been recently piled. "Could it be?" he asked.

Konrad pushed forward and eyed the structure carefully. With a beaming smile, he nodded his head and responded, "Yes, it is a dragon weevil burrow. And it appears to be fresh."

"Creatures tend to protect their burrows," Bram warned. "It could be dangerous."

"Not the dragon weevil," Konrad answered. "It is known to be quite tame." He brushed away the layers of silt on top.

Bram noticed the ground move from underneath. "Watch out, it's beginning to stir!"

"Like I said, there is nothing to—" he was interrupted when two razor-sharp pincers pierced through the mud. Luckily, Bram pulled him back before the mandibles cleaved through where his forearms would have been.

Józef gave a start and nearly fumbled the lute. Fortunately, Konrad was unhurt.

"Back away!" Bram demanded. He drew his sword as the dragon weevil crawled from its burrow, snapping its mandibles viciously.

"No, you must not kill it," Konrad begged, pushing him back. "They are only born every hundred years!"

The dragon weevil lowered its head and raised its back. Its shell opened, revealing rows of barbs on the inside. They fired outward like crossbow bolts, wounding the soldiers at Bram's side. They screamed and writhed on the marshy soil as fiery venom coursed through their bodies. However, Bram's Gnostic armor protected him, and he did not hesitate. In a single motion, he swung his sword against the dragon weevil's backside, spilling its guts into the mud. Konrad's face contorted in agony as the exotic beast fell to its side and died. The white wizard ran to the soldiers to treat their wounds.

"You killed it," the scrawny man stated sadly.

"I had no choice," Bram responded with Gnostic stoicism. Pushing the carcass aside, he groped under the sand with his free hand. After a few moments of searching, he pulled out an egg.

"Leave the others," Konrad requested. "They may yet survive to be born."

"I thought you said it takes a hundred years."

"Yes, and almost all of it can be done without the presence of the mother. The hard shell will protect them for decades."

Bram nodded and piled the silt back onto a mound. The others gathered around Józef, and helped him to retreat from the area before the blood leeches came out of their stupor.

Once they were out of immediate danger, Józef caught up to Bram to speak with him. "That was a close call."

Bram nodded. "Indeed. But we also have you to thank for keeping the blood leeches at bay. You have quite a skill at playing the lute."

Józef smiled. "I took to it at a young age. My father believed in fostering creativity in his son, even though my grandfather would chastise him, insisting that I stick to my studies."

Thoughts about his father made Józef feel melancholy, and he did not want to expose his inner feelings to the Gnostic Knight. He thought of a way to change the subject. "I was surprised to see the dragon weevil attack you."

"I'm sorry I had to destroy the creature, Your Majesty." The knight sounded remorseful. "I didn't see a way to avoid it."

"No, no," Józef said to ameliorate. "I do not bring this up to condemn your actions, Bram. You did what was necessary. I only meant to ask if you have noticed other creatures acting abnormally in the same way. In my country, animals have been acting strangely for the past several years. Farm animals have become disagreeable with their owners and put in less work, carrier pigeons have been known to not return to their destinations, and areas known to be safe have suddenly become infested by spawn. It has been a worrying trend."

Bram nodded. "Yes, Angkor has seen this as well."

"What do you think it means?"

Bram shook his head. "I don't know, Your Majesty."

Józef hoped to lighten the mood. "You know, I may be heir to the Kitezhian throne, but you can call me by my name. You are my guide, and I do not feel right to demand the honor of a king."

Bram removed his Gnostic helm, and Józef saw that his lip had curled up ever so slightly. "I think I can do that … Józef."

The young king smiled broadly. "It is good to finally speak with you on a personal level, Bram." He extended his hand and Bram shook it. "Now, about my comment earlier … I was thinking that the increased spawn activity might be related to the behavior of otherwise tame creatures, such as the dragon weevil. And I wonder if it has anything to do with the sunstones."

The knight seemed to react to Józef's statement, making him wonder if Bram was holding something back.

"It's possible," Bram admitted, "but our first priority should be to reach Koba. We need to warn them before Angkor regroups. By the way, how well do you know the Koban emperor?"

Józef picked up on the fact that Bram had changed subjects, but decided to answer his question. "I accompanied my father on several visits in my youth, but I have not spoken to him directly. I figure he must have learned by now that Rungholt was attacked, but he might not know to what extent, or fully understand Angkor's purpose. He is no fool, though. I suspect he has already raised his defenses in anticipation."

"Let's hope you're right," Bram responded.

Józef nodded. "I hope we are successful in curing your companion's sickness."

"Me too," Bram returned with a sigh.

Józef understood how Bram must have been feeling. He remembered the deep chasm in his heart as Angela lay on her death bed, with all the uncertainty over whether she would live to recover. He hoped in Rosa's case, things would turn out differently.

Bram seemed to have had enough talking. Józef read from his body language that the knight had a lot on his mind. So they walked back to the sandskipper in silence.


	51. Chapter 4: Part XIII

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**Part XIII**

_After Midnight of Primoris, Ninth Day of Autumnmoon_

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In the middle of the night, inside a room lit by a single flickering candle, two men met in private. One was the First Advisor to King Richard, the other a Gnostic Knight in full regalia. The former chancellor cast a spell to protect the conversation from eavesdropping. It was something he had failed to do on one previous occasion—a careless oversight that had resulted in severe punishment. Now, he preceded all his conversations with this precaution.

"I've taken care of the craftsman," he told the Gnostic, barely containing his giddiness. A wide smile painted his face in hues that looked sickly in the candle's amber flame. "We're holding him in the old dungeons, and not even his lawyer wants anything to do with him."

"Virgil, you fool!" the knight reproached in his deep baritone voice. "We need him to complete the project!"

Virgil's smile quickly faded. "Not to worry—I assure you. He'll continue his services, one way or another."

"You had best get him back to work, and fast." The plates of the Gnostic's armor gnashed as he shifted slightly in his seat. "What else?"

Virgil folded his arms, now more careful to present his report objectively. "Abaddon has grown in power. I expect the throne of Angkor will soon be at our disposal, and we'll no longer need to waste time with Cromwell."

"Very good," the knight responded, "but it can't happen soon enough. He already questions our strategy. You've left too many holes, and King Richard is not a fool."

"It will happen, I assure you. There's no escaping the Ahriman's corruption. Not even a man as strong as Cromwell will last much longer." Virgil's conviction appeared to the put the knight at ease—as much as a Gnostic Knight could ever be at ease. "Speaking of which, now that we have the Gemini Stone in our possession, what are your plans for Libicocco?"

"Hold on to her stone for now. We'll need it for Koba."

"You still insist on striking right away?"

The Gnostic nodded. "We were lucky with Kitezh, but expect Koba to be better prepared. We must attack before the window of surprise closes."

Virgil frowned. "I know our master has chosen you to lead our strategy, but I urge you not to rush things. We haven't yet finished off Kitezh. If they should reorganize and liberate their city from our occupation, they'll expose what we've done. It will make it nearly impossible to obtain the remaining sunstones."

"I'm aware, Mister Garvey, but as you know, our time is limited. We must act quickly and decisively. Understood?"

Virgil looked back defiantly, but he knew the knight was right. "Of course, I understand."

With that, the knight left the room, leaving Virgil alone with the candle flame. He stared into its mesmerizing center as he contemplated his next moves. It seemed the knight's recent promotion had emboldened him to take some risks. Virgil would need to keep an eye on him, and make sure he did not do anything foolish. With that in mind, he blew out the candle and left to follow up on his instructions.


	52. Chapter 4: Part XIV

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* * *

**Part XIV**

_Before Daybreak of Primoris, Ninth Day of Autumnmoon_

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When Bram returned to the sandskipper holding the dragon weevil egg under his arm, he was greeted by faces full of relief. Uriana was especially enthusiastic as she ran to him and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. Feeling awkward, he removed his gauntlets and patted her softly on the head. Others might have seen her affection as endearing, but Bram felt it was misplaced. She acted like a child being reunited with her father, but he did not deserve to be seen in that way. Intentional or not, he was involved in the destruction of the Ur valley, which had resulted in her mother's death. Though he had turned away from the Gnostic Knighthood, he was still nothing more than a trained killer. She deserved a better guardian, and someday he hoped to find one for her.

As for the Kitezhians, they were happy to have their king once more among them. Those from the search party mingled with the ones on board the sandskipper, sharing boisterous tales of life-threatening adventures. Meanwhile, the two white wizards concocted the cure for Rosa, mixing the contents of the egg with various herbs and powders. Uriana let go of Bram to watch, an unnoticed observer. Her face had a look of intense concentration, as if memorizing every step. He wondered what other skills she had absorbed while no one noticed.

Géorg did not wait for them to finish. As soon as everyone was on board, he directed his craft once more toward Mount Abakai. As he drove, the clouds parted, revealing two white orbs that shined their pale moonlight over the plains. Despite the increased risk of being seen by Angkorian airships traveling overhead, Konrad urged the one-armed man forward. Daylight was only an hour or two away, and it would put them in even greater danger.

Given the long day and stressful night, many on board took the opportunity to rest. The white wizards inoculated Rosa with the serum, but they expected it to take a while before it would take effect. Dragon weevil vaccines were never predictable, taking anywhere from minutes to days. The bit of serum remained and was put into a small phial, which was given to Józef and placed in his travel pack for safekeeping.

As the others drifted to sleep, the young king approached Bram, speaking in a low whisper. "I see you have not joined the others in sleep. I understand you are anxious about the serum, but you should know that it could take quite some time. It has been a long day, so you may want to get some rest."

Bram smiled. "I appreciate your concern, Józef, but I think I'll stay awake a bit longer. What about you? Why haven't you joined the others?"

"I slept earlier, at the farmhouse," he said with eyes that were distant and melancholy. "Since you intend to stay awake, would you mind if I asked you something?"

The question took Bram by surprise, and he wondered if the young king still distrusted him and wanted to ask about his past. "You don't need to ask permission, Józef. If it's about my life as a Gnostic, I've got nothing left to hide."

Józef waved his hands. "No, you misunderstand. I wanted to ask about the child, Uriana. You said you had rescued her from harm, so I assume she is an orphan of war?"

Bram felt his guard go up. He could sense a line of questions that were ultimately geared at revealing Uriana's identity. He had promised himself that he would protect her from anyone who would abuse her powers, even it if meant hiding the truth from a king. Earlier, he had given Matthias credit for stabilizing the magical infection inside of Rosa, even though it had been Uriana's magic. Józef seemed genuinely honest and trustworthy, but he was still the ruler of a powerful nation, surrounded by men and women who might seek such power for personal gain. Bram decided he would answer the young king's questions only by keeping the answers intentionally vague.

"That's correct," he stated. "She lost her parents in a terrible tragedy, so I've stepped in to be her caretaker."

Józef smiled. "She is quite endearing—brave, too. I have not heard a peep from her since we met. How did you end up coming in contact with her? Do you know anything about her life before you met?"

Bram's muscles tensed, but he kept his face like stone. The questions were becoming more personal, and he would need to set some respectful limits. "I'm sorry, Józef, but I prefer to keep Yuri's history private."

"Why is that?" the young king pressed. "Does it have to do with how you found her?"

Bram did not know how to respond. It seemed Józef was used to getting clear answers when he wanted them, and Bram did not want to be disrespectful.

Fortunately, he did not have to. Józef seemed to pick up on his body language. "Do not worry. I shall not probe further. I was simply curious, since I have never heard of a Gnostic Knight rescuing a child from harm and then willingly become her guardian. Of course, I mean no disrespect in saying so."

Bram appreciated the diplomacy. Perhaps he had misjudged the young king. "I took no offense. I'm simply looking out for Yuri's best interests."

"Your Majesty," whispered the voice of the female wizard from the other side of the sandskipper, "I apologize for interrupting, but the young woman—she has regained consciousness."

Bram immediately crawled to Rosa's side, a flood of anticipation sweeping over him. With so much uncertainty over whether the serum would work—and to what extent—he was filled with delight to see her eyes finally flutter open. She looked up at him, and he crouched forward to grab her hand. The moment he felt her warmth, a feeling of relief exploded within him. The incredible weight and tension accumulated from days of intense worry had at last been lifted from his shoulders. She curled her fingers weakly around his, and he sat with his back against the lip of the sandskipper, repositioning her body to comfortably lay against his chest.

For several minutes, neither said a word. Géorg piloted his craft forward, while Józef and his white wizard joined the rest of the crew in sleep. It gave Bram and Rosa some time to savor the private moment. Slowly, color returned to her face as the serum cleansed the putrid poison from her body. Bram remained silent, feeling her warmth as a constant reassurance that she was going to be all right.

He was about to nod off when she started to move her lips. "Bram … where am I?"

He let out a small chuckle. It was relief more than anything else, but he also found it endearing. It was so much like her to want to understand her bearings before even saying hello. Regardless, he relished to answer it for her.

"We're aboard a sandskipper," he explained in a hushed voice. "You were infected by a magical toxin, and unconscious for … too long a time. A man named Géorg Töller found you at the base of a ravine, and we think you must have been fleeing something atop the Zeugma Pass. We owe him a lot, and would not have made it this far without his help."

Rosa's face grew fearful, and her lips began to tremble.

"What is it?" he asked, greatly concerned.

Rosa quickly snapped out of it. "I was only thinking back to my escape. You're correct that it was atop the Zeugma Pass." She briefly told Bram about her capture by Virgil Garvey, and her harrowing flight from the corvusaur.

Bram gritted his teeth. So Virgil _was_ behind it! "You won't have to worry about him much longer," he assured her. "I swear to you I'll have my vengeance!"

Rosa shook her head. "You mustn't do anything foolish, Bram. He's incredibly dangerous. I have much to tell you, but first … I see many unfamiliar faces. Have all these people joined our cause?"

Bram nodded. "Many of them are King Brandt's people. Then there's Uriana, whom I'll tell you about later."

Rosa smiled weakly. "I thank the Goddess that you made it safely to Kitezh. I was so worried about your mission to Ur, once I realized that Richard was using you."

Bram tightened his lips. The whole experience seemed like ages ago, but it had only been a week.

"Even so," Rosa continued, "somehow I knew you would make it. Please, you must tell me everything! How did your discussion go with King Brandt? Surely he understood the need to protect the sunstones, if he provided you with so many men."

"Uh …" Bram paused for a moment, realizing that Rosa must believe that Henrich Brandt still lived and ruled as king. He thought about how to break the truth, but he could already see fear and confusion creep into her eyes as he hesitated. He knew he would not be able to hold anything back, so he laid it out openly.

"I didn't want to burden you so soon after your recovery, but sadly Rungholt was attacked. Angkor came with airships and bombed the city. It all happened a few days ago."

Rosa's eyes lost focus. "You mean I was asleep all that time?"

Bram's heart ached for her, but he nodded. "There were many casualties, including the late King Brandt. His heir still lives and has succeeded the throne. He's asked that I guide him to the Koban capital city, so that he may warn Emperor Zhao Peng. That's why we're heading east. Mount Abakai is the only way to cross into Koba without being seen by Angkor."

"What about the Kitezhian sunstone?" Rosa pressed.

Bram's head sank along with his spirits. "Angkor has it."

She sighed, looking equally dispirited.

"Rosa …" he brought his palm to caress her cheek. "Don't upset yourself so soon after your recovery. You need to rest. You can tell me everything when we arrive at the base of the mountain."

Rosa's eyes flared, and her face filled with urgency. "No, Bram! I've been asleep for far too long, and this can't wait any longer! I must reveal the true dangers of the sunstones. You have no idea what harm they can cause in the wrong hands!"

Bram recalled the fierce lightning storm called forth by King Richard while he demonstrated the sunstone's powers in his throne room. "You mean there's more to their power than what I've seen already?"

"Excuse me," Józef interrupted, as he cozied up beside Bram and Rosa. His presence surprised them both, since Bram had thought he was asleep. "I apologize for eavesdropping, but I have also been eager to learn the truth behind the sunstones."

Rosa struggled to sit up, so Bram offered her some leverage. He also noticed her untrusting glare, so he made introductions. "Rosa, this is Józef Brandt, son of the late king. He is the new ruler of Kitezh."

She pulled back her gaze, looking embarrassed. "You must think me terribly rude, Your Majesty. It's just that I've been cautious about whom I can trust."

"No, please, call me Józef," he responded. "Now, if you do not mind, I was told earlier that you had researched the sunstones. I wish to learn more about them."

She nodded. "Yes, of course … Józef. Might I assume that some knowledge already passed on to you, following your father's passing?"

"You refer to The Enchantment?" he asked.

Rosa nodded.

He lowered his head, looking disappointed. "Not exactly," he admitted. "My father told me about this magic, since he was one of the sunstone protectors. But sadly, it has yet to pass on to me."

Rosa turned to Bram to explain. "The Enchantment is one of the spells cast by the original wizards when they gave the sunstones to four prominent nations, almost a thousand years ago. Obviously much has changed over the centuries, but these nations have remained loyal all this time. They are Minoa, Vineta, Kitezh, and Koba. The original wizards knew that the sunstones would be incredibly dangerous if ever gathered in a single place, so they created The Enchantment as a way of preparing future heirs. It passes on to any leader, whether that person is king, emperor, or high priest. Since Józef is heir to Kitezh, he will soon bear the responsibility."

She then turned to Józef. "Of course, there's no need to worry if the process hasn't happened yet. In the confusion, you might not have recited the Oath of your kingdom. That is a necessary element for The Enchantment to pass on, according to my research."

Józef nodded, looking relieved. "You are correct. We are still under Angkorian occupation, and so we never had a chance to make it official. Since I do not yet have knowledge through The Enchantment, it would be best if you started from the beginning."

Rosa nodded, and her expression turned serious. "I spent many hours in the Archives looking for answers, but the truth only became clear once I stumbled upon the journals of an old historian and wizard named Maurice Vance."

Bram leaned forward. "Where have I heard that name before?"

"He was a well-respected scholar in his day," Rosa explained. "He dedicated his career to studying the Old History. His goal was to separate facts from legends and myths. One such tale involved a great war between man and beast. It told of ancient beings of terrible evil, who raised armies of dark creatures in an attempt to destroy mankind. It all culminated in a battle that involved the very essence of life on this planet."

"It sounds a lot like the Omega War," Józef recalled. "But everyone knows it is only a child's tale. Why would a respected scholar like Vance be interested?"

"Because it isn't a myth," Rosa laid out bluntly. "According to legend, the ancient beings were known as the _Ahrimen_. No one knows where they came from, but they were so mighty that it took all of mankind united to defeat them. With the help of the world's most powerful wizards, these creatures were imprisoned, with the intent of sealing them away for all eternity."

Bram shook his head. "I don't understand what this old myth has to do with us, or the sunstones."

"Don't you see, Bram?" she insisted. "The Ahrimen are imprisoned _inside the sunstones_!"

"Great Gaia," Józef breathed. "Are you saying that Vance's research led him to study the sunstones, and that he discovered their powers came from the same ancient creatures of evil mentioned in the stories?"

A shiver crept up Bram's spine. It sounded crazy, but he had witnessed the sunstones' powers with his own eyes. Perhaps the legends were true after all.

"How?" he demanded. "How would Vance ever prove such a thing?"

"He put his theories to the test," Rosa explained, her eyes demanding that Bram accept the truth. "He practiced the old rituals on the sunstone in Vineta, most likely without the Eight Clerics knowing."

Józef was aghast. "He did all this, knowing that one of these beasts—these _Ahrimen_—was imprisoned inside?"

"Not only that," Rosa emphasized, "but he also communicated with the mightiest among them, the one known as Lord Zagan."

Józef's eyes grew wide in horror. Meanwhile, Bram shook his head in disbelief, trying to piece it all together. "So Vance disappeared one day, right? His research must have disappeared, too. Otherwise, his discoveries would have been common knowledge by now."

Rosa nodded. "That's right. Vance was quite prominent in the wizard community, and he reached the height of his fame before either of us was born. Many of my wizardry lessons were based on his teachings. He was a pioneer, a master in advancing wizardry in the modern age. Many people respected him—or at least, they did for a time."

"What happened?" Józef wondered.

"He lost quite a bit of credibility when he turned his attention to researching the sunstones," Rosa answered. "You have to understand. Wizards throughout history have tried to discover their secrets, only to ruin their reputations in the process. Vance was no different. Many believed that he would fail as well, and that it would tarnish an otherwise flawless record."

"But he must have had reason to believe his efforts would yield results," Bram reasoned.

"Whatever led him to research the sunstones is unclear," Rosa went on, "but many watched closely to see if his work would yield any new discoveries. And then one day, he disappeared, along with his research. No one realized that he had actually succeeded. To the outside world, he appeared to be a disgrace. It became a scandal, and many believed he shrank into the shadows, embarrassed by his failures."

Bram was still puzzled. "But what really happened to Vance? And how did his journals make their way into the Archives, when no one was aware of their existence until recently?"

"Vance is still missing," Rosa told him, "but his journals got mixed up with other paperwork, and brought to the Archives without anyone realizing. Well … almost no one. In order to gain access to the Archives to do my research, I received help from an old friend." She choked on her last words. Tears formed along her eyes.

"Rosa, what is it?" Bram inquired, worried about the stress she was putting on her body so soon after her recovery. "If this is too much, we can finish later—"

"No, I'll be fine, I assure you." She wiped her tears away and remained steadfast. "I'm just saddened because I was referring to my old school teacher, Jean Vieillechaise. He was the Archives' head librarian, and the first to discover Vance's research. But he refused to believe the findings. They were just too outlandish for any rational person to accept. Only when he saw what King Richard had done with the Minoan sunstone did he suspect the truth. He passed the information on to me, but just as I was about to leave Niedam to warn you, Virgil found us."

Bram clenched his fist and groaned as he heard the name. "What happened to Jean is _not_ your fault, Rosa."

"I know, but he gave his life so that I might escape."

"You're here now," Bram assured her, "and I promise to make Virgil _pay_ for what he did to you!"

"You must listen carefully, Bram. Virgil is no ordinary wizard. He's using some kind of power that I've never seen before. No one has. It's something that wizards can't detect."

A memory suddenly flashed into Bram's mind. "He must have used that magic on me and my men at the Minoan temple! I remember the priests saying something about dark wizardry. They were terrified of it!"

"It could very well be the same thing," Rosa concluded. "Virgil's powers must somehow be connected to the Ahrimen. I just know he's been at the center of all this from the beginning!"

Bram stopped her. "Slow down, Rosa, I don't think I follow. Virgil works for King Richard, and he had no contact with the sunstones before stealing the first one from Minoa—so your timeline doesn't add up. Also, he wasn't in a position to pull any strings before becoming First Advisor. Only Richard has the authority to wage an attack against a foreign country. The mission to steal the sunstone of Minoa, to deliver the cursed box to Ur, and the attack on Rungholt could only have come from him."

Rosa pursed her lips, as if trying to make sense of it in her head. "I can't explain the source of Virgil's powers prior to obtaining the first sunstone," she admitted, "but don't forget that he was first to find Vance's journals, which was why Richard promoted him in the first place. It's therefore possible that he's been manipulating the king all along. Richard may simply be following Virgil's advice."

"Wait," Józef interrupted. "Are you suggesting that Angkor's king is being played?"

"It's not really that hard to believe, Your Majesty," Rosa explained. "Kings often put most if not all of their faith in their advisors. There's simply so much pressure in ruling a kingdom that it becomes a heavy mantle for some monarchs. So instead, they delegate their work, offloading more of it each day, until one morning they find their country ruled more by their delegates than by their king."

Bram was not convinced. "I don't know, Rosa. I've known Richard for many years, and he's a smart man. If Virgil has been able to influence so many of his policies, he must have had more than just Vance's journals."

"The journals were just the beginning," Rosa argued. "Now that Virgil has earned his trust and demonstrated the power of the sunstones, Richard has given him nearly unlimited power. With his new role, he's now free to direct Angkor's resources to his own ends."

Bram let out a deep breath. "You have a point," he agreed. "First Advisors have the power to make unilateral decisions in times of crisis. It makes perfect sense why Virgil would have sought that position."

"Think about it, Bram," she pressed. "We're not just dealing with a powerful nation driven by a king's ambitions. That's at least something we could understand. Instead, we are blind to Virgil's end goal. His actions so far have been more akin to that of a madman, and what he ends up doing with the sunstones and the Ahrimen could be catastrophic!"

"Great Gaia," Józef breathed as he collapsed against the lip of the sandskipper. He shook his head slowly back and forth while rubbing his fingertips along his temples.

"What do we do?" Bram asked.

"There's only one thing we can do," Rosa responded. "We _must _protect the remaining sunstones!"

Bram nodded with conviction. "Then we must reach Tiahuanaco without delay. It's not just for Koba or Kitezh … but the fate of the world rests on us."

* * *

**End of Chapter 4**

_Thank you for reaching this point in my story!_

_It means a lot to me to hear from my readers,_

_So please leave a review_

_-Jeff Howard-_

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_._


	53. Chapter 5: Part I

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**Chapter 5: Sacred Sunstone of Koba**

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**Part I**

_Morning of Primoris, Ninth Day of Autumnmoon_

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The sun rose above the western peaks of Mount Abakai, casting a ray of hope upon King Józef Brandt and his crew. In the hours before dawn, they successfully evaded the Angkorian border patrol, as well as circling airships. And now, having reached the base of the mountain, it was time for Konrad and Géorg to separate from their king, and return to Rungholt to help in its time of crisis.

Before departing, the crew said their goodbyes, and offered praises to Géorg in particular. Though a total stranger, he had used his sandskipper to assist the party in their escape from the country. Konrad watched as the heir of Kitezh shook Géorg's left hand, wishing him Gaia's blessings. Bram lowered his head in a partial bow, a warrior's token of respect, while Rosa—having nearly recovered from the magical toxin—hugged the one-armed man and wished him well on his return journey.

Finally, before following their king, the other Kitezhians turned and saluted. Géorg had once been their comrade, but his injury and subsequent discharge had stripped him of his military status. Even so, they chose to honor him, each saluting with his or her left hand in a noble act of solidarity. Konrad thought he saw a tear roll off the one-armed man's cheek, glinting of the morning sunlight.

Konrad also bid his farewells. It was past time he returned to base, to help defend his kinsmen from the Angkorian occupation. He received a similar though less emotional valediction. After offering some final words of comfort to his king, he and Géorg returned to the sandskipper and departed.

For several hours, Konrad took a long overdue nap. His sleep the previous night had been short and restless, as he struggled with how to say goodbye to his ward. It was not the first time Józef had left Kitezh on his own, but now things were very different. Angkor had started a war and had already killed one king. Konrad still mourned for Henrich Brandt, who he had considered to be more than just a good master. Józef's father was his friend and mentor, and his death was a bitter loss to all who knew him. For all the good he had done for Kitezh, he deserved better.

At least Józef was now outside of Angkor's reach. Konrad had only approved of his trip to Koba because it took him out of the hot zone in Rungholt. If Angkorian troops ever found an entrance to the Network, they would destroy everyone inside. Józef would be especially vulnerable, given his knowledge of the family vaults, as well as many other secrets that would compromise national security for years to come. Konrad wanted the heir as far away from Kitezh as possible.

Somewhere in the middle of these thoughts, he had dozed off, but when he awoke, he saw the sun high in the sky. He yawned and stretched his arms behind his head. Géorg looked at him momentarily before turning his attention back to his controls.

Wide open fields of grass passed along the sides of the sandskipper, leaving Konrad to wonder why they were not sticking to a safer route. "Is it wise to be traveling in plain sight, Mister Töller?" he asked in a groggy voice.

"I have not seen a single airship all morning," the one-arm man announced in good spirits, "and we are making good time out in the open."

Konrad was eager to make it back to Rungholt, and he was too drowsy to argue. Instead, he sat back and watched the passing hills and quarries, thickets and groves, and small streams that populated the Kitezhian landscape.

Géorg was first to break the silence. "Sir, it may sound strange for me bring this up, but I do not recall hearing you mention your family name."

Konrad's ears perked up. He usually hesitated before introducing himself by his full name, but after such a polite request, he could hardly refuse. "My apologies, Mister Töller—I did not mean to be rude. So much has happened that it must have slipped my mind. My name is Konrad Rommel, and I serve His Majesty as Primary Minister."

"Rommel, eh? Any relation to the general?"

Konrad sighed. He did not like answering that question, yet it was often asked as soon as he uttered his surname. It was why he avoided mentioning it. "That is correct. Friedreich Rommel was my father."

Géorg seemed impressed. "It must have been quite an honor for you to come from such a distinguished family."

Konrad expected that response, too, while he groaned on the inside. "Honorable, yes … but you can be sure it came with a huge responsibility. My father set demanding standards for his family, and it came as quite a disappointment when I did not rise in rank through the military."

Géorg responded with something that Konrad did not expect. "You may not be a general in the king's army, but as His Majesty's top advisor, I would think your father must have been proud. It is a great accomplishment."

Konrad could not help but smile, as he rarely received praise for his role. "I think he was. It was just not his way to show it."

"Fair enough." Géorg tilted his head. "So then, what stopped you from advancing in the army?"

Konrad was not used to revealing so much about himself, but with all that had happened, Géorg was like a stranger at a pub, who listens to secrets spilt over cheap ale. It was not a matter of friendship, but of idle comradery. Konrad had nothing else to consume his time, so he answered as honestly as he could.

"I tried for years. Sadly, I lacked the strength to master a sword or the dexterity to fire a bow. My father told me that we shared the same blood, and that my failures had to be the result of unwillingness. So when I came of age, he asked me to leave his household until I was fit to uphold his family name."

Géorg raised his eyebrows in sympathy. "What did you do?"

Konrad scratched at his head—a tic that sometimes manifested when he was nervous, or facing an awkward moment. He cleared his throat anxiously. "Fortunately, I had an uncle who worked inside the palace. He found me a position as an assistant to one of King Brandt's retainers. From there I worked hard until I reached my current position. I only spoke to my father a few times before … before he was defeated at Dobb's Plain. I think he was content, but saying so would have proven him wrong about me, and I do not think he was willing to do that."

Once Konrad finished, it was as if a weight had been lifted from his conscience. In his line of work, so few people were willing to learn about his past. Most Kitezhian men considered such matters as strictly private, so it was nice to confide in a stranger.

"How about you, Géorg?" he posed, feeling emboldened—perhaps even entitled—to request a story in return.

Surprisingly, the one-armed man was willing to oblige. "I had a much closer relationship with my father. He served in the late King Brandt's army, and was eager to see me do the same. However, my mother feared the loss of her family and begged me to find a vocation that would exempt me from the draft. My parents were wealthy landowners, and they believed they could find alternatives, if I were willing. Nevertheless, fighting for Kitezh was my dream. I would never have given it up."

Konrad listened closely, and was quick to note the change in Géorg's demeanor. The one-armed man took a deep breath, which he let out with a shudder. Whatever memory he was about to reveal must have been intensely emotional for him. "Several years into the War, my father died in battle. I was supposed to have fought beside him in the same battalion, but I had been transferred several days earlier. Nevertheless, my mother received a message informing her that we had both been defeated by the blades of Angkor. Overcome with grief, she took her own life."

Konrad's heart sank. He had asked a stranger to reveal his past, only to find it contained things more horrible and personal than he could have imagined. He felt ashamed for asking. "I am sorry. I should not have pried into your life."

Géorg glared at him. "You asked, did you not?"

Konrad was suddenly flushed. "Yes, but I—"

"Then the least you could do is listen to the answer."

Konrad felt like a fool. He had just received respite, simply because Géorg had offered to listen to his story. He owed it to the one-armed man to listen in kind. "Please continue," he offered. "You were saying about your mother?"

Géorg nodded, looking satisfied. "I do not think she would have taken her life just for my father. The mistake was in thinking that I was also dead. Her parents had passed many years before that, and she had no other family. Without a husband or son, she would have no source of income, and no way to afford the cost of living. I received word of her death on the eve before my final battle. Because I was angry, I let it cloud my judgment. I fought aggressively, as a means to abate my frustrations. I was brash and overconfident, and justly paid for my foolishness with my arm." He raised the stump on his right shoulder for emphasis.

Konrad's heart ached from the tale, which seemed to get worse the more Géorg went on. Konrad's own troubled past seemed pale in comparison. "Surely that is a harsh way to consider it," he suggested, hoping to mollify some of Géorg's pain with a few sympathetic words.

"Not the way I see it," Géorg argued. "I used to pride myself as a warrior, training my whole life to be the best. Yet I threw it all away when I allowed myself to get emotional in battle. Not only did I put my own life in danger, but also the lives of my comrades. Losing my arm is a constant reminder of my mistake, and it has forced me to reconsider many things in my life."

Konrad nodded at Géorg's profound words and waited for the one armed man to continue. "Later, when I was rescued from an Angkorian prison, I had to fend for myself. When I was unable to afford the new tax rate, I like many others turned my family's estate back to the government, which they auctioned off to fund the war. My family was dead, and no one expected me to return. I felt betrayed, but over time I realized that King Brandt had faced his own difficult choices. As Angkor gained ground, sacrifices had to be made. I no longer blame anyone for what happened, least of all the late king. I am still loyal to our country, and wish to do what I can to defend it."

After finishing his monologue, Géorg returned to silently piloting his sandskipper. Konrad wanted to say more, but felt it better to give the one armed man time to soak in the silence. There was a certain satisfaction that came from revealing a deeply heartfelt secret. Konrad had felt it moments earlier, and it only seemed right to give Géorg a chance to feel it, too.

After a few minutes of considerate silence, he found the words he had been searching for. "My friend, your loyalty to your country was clear to all of us. When your king needed you most, you aided in his escape across the countryside. That will not be soon forgotten."

Géorg said nothing, but smiled contentedly.

At that moment, a strange feeling came over the sandskipper. The air in between the two men grew wavy, just like the boundary of a fire. Konrad's skin prickled as he sensed magic in the air. The distortion coalesced into the shape of a sphere, and in its center was the image of a woman adorned in noble attire.

"Lady White!" he gasped, very much relieved to recognize the spell-caster. "Thank the Goddess you survived! I had not heard from you since before the attack, and I was worried something had happened to you."

Lady White gazed back with a single raised eyebrow. Some people might have seen her as elderly, but those who knew the stately woman recognized the aura of confidence that emanated from her face, as well as the untold wisdom that ebbed through the creases around her eyes. Her title was a special acknowledgement bestowed by the Kitezhian king to the country's most powerful white wizard. Henrich had given a similar title to the most powerful black wizard, and in the case of a male counterpart, called them Lord White or Black. At present, both Kitezhian high-wizards were female.

"Mister Rommel," she spoke gracefully, enunciating each syllable with perfect pitch and clarity, "I apologize for my absence, of course, but you can be sure it was for good reason. There have been no end to the efforts put forth by Lady Black and myself to keep our citizens safe and our Network secured. More to the point, however—I have attempted to contact you and the prince for quite some time now, but neither of you has been within my _scrying_ range."

"His Majesty is en route to Koba, My Lady," Konrad explained. "I have personally seen him to the base of Mount Abakai. Surely you must have heard from Captain Unruh—"

"Speaking of the captain," Lady White interrupted, "I fear the prince's whereabouts have put us in a dire predicament. You see, Master Brandt should realize that the trust of the Kitezhian people does not come easily. There is significant unrest over the Angkorian occupation, and I regret to say that _some people_ have taken matters into their own hands."

Konrad was outraged. "Who dares to challenge the king's prerogative? He clearly ordered his Ministry to wait for reinforcements!"

He thought he heard a harrumph from the female spell-caster, but her visage remained stone cold. "It is the aforementioned Captain Unruh who leads the rebellion—and he may have good reason, too. The invaders have been diligent in their search for the Network, and many fear the time draws near when they shall find an entrance. If King Brandt has only just arrived at Mount Abakai, I fear that when he returns, it will have been too late. The Ministry is in shambles, and Captain Unruh is capitalizing on the chaos to push for a surrogate vote."

Konrad caught his breath. "So he _is_ after the throne! Will he succeed?"

"I fear things have degenerated," Lady White lamented. "Reason has given way to cowardice, and I expect a vote is imminent. Assuming it all goes in his favor, he will quickly form a counter-attack against the occupation."

Konrad cursed under his breath and thanked Lady White for her warning. The woman nodded and her magical projection disappeared.

"What was that all about?" Géorg asked.

Konrad's fingers went absently to his head and started to scratch. "The king's Minister of Security, Heinz Unruh. Ever since King Henrich died, I had a feeling that Heinz would vie for surrogate control, but I never thought he would use a situation like _this_! It is the master's decision to have a surrogate until he is old enough to rule himself, but if he is ever missing or incapacitated, the Ministry can name their own. Basically, it gives that person complete executive rule over the nation."

Géorg's lips tightened as he began to understand. "But you are the Primary Minister!" he reasoned. "Surely you have the means to stop it."

"Of course I do," Konrad answered. "Unfortunately, I can be overruled by the other ministers if I am absent, and if their vote is unanimous. If Lady White is correct, then Unruh will aim to manipulate them before I return. I fear that under the circumstances, he may be able to pull it off. The Ministry will not stand idle as Angkor besieges our city and searches for our Network. If he convinces them that he can end the threat, they will support him."

"I understand," Géorg stated, as he shoved sandskipper's throttle forward. "Hold on. I will get us to Rungholt faster."

Konrad gripped the side of the vehicle and allowed his mind to hunt for solutions. If there were an area he trusted his instincts most, it was politics. He only hoped he would not be too late.


	54. Chapter 5: Part II

**.**

* * *

**Part II**

_Afternoon of Primoris, Ninth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

By high-sun, the light reflected brilliantly off the fresh snow on Mount Abakai's western slopes. Precipitation from the previous week had established a firm white base, but a bright and clear morning turned it quickly into slush. Just as the tall evergreens strained from the weight of the winter slurry, so did the travelers feel the strain of their exodus to Koba.

Bram Morrison led the posse, in stride with their neophyte king. He had traveled that path once before, many years ago. During the War, Kitezh and Koba had built the route to share surplus supplies, which for years gave them an advantage against Angkor. It took black wizards months to carve a byway large enough for the wagons to travel, but it served both nations mutually. Koba had enough food harvested from their rice fields to feed both armies, while Kitezh had enough precious iron ore mined from their hillsides to supply all the weapons and armor.

King Richard had attempted to intercept the supply caravans by sending troops along the flatlands on the south side of the mountain. However, those supply wagons were just decoys. The larger shipments were sent along the newly created passage over the mountain.

After years of being deceived, Richard finally grew wise to his opponent's strategy. He sent five of his best Gnostics on a mission to destroy the supply route, and Bram was among them. He asked each knight to take a white wizard along with them to compensate for the sparse food and warmth over a six month period.

This all happened shortly after Bram and Rosa first met. She had agreed to accompany him, and during that time it was a constant struggle to keep ahead of their enemy. Kitezh and Koba went through extraordinary efforts to eradicate the knights, but they could not match the skills of the Gnostics and their wizards. In the end, the subterfuge succeeded in weakening both nations, and King Richard continued his advance. Bram reminisced of those days, while basking in the irony that he now aided Kitezh's king along the very same route.

He looked over his shoulder to Rosa, who hiked along the rear of the group without complaint, in spite of the fact that her body had been under siege from an evil and magical toxin only hours before. Not to mention the cold, wet pathway, which ebbed through a person's boots, making the uphill climb all the less bearable. The group had been hiking since dawn, so he figured it would be a good time to break for food and rest.

Everyone was eager to reach Koba, but rest was long overdue, so no one complained. The farmers from the valley had provided them with food and warm clothing. Meanwhile, Józef's wizards cast spells on these supplies to extend their usage. White magic was effective in helping food to stay fresh, and clothing to hold in warmth.

Once the party stopped its march, Bram left the head of the line to join Rosa. She had spent the morning talking with Uriana as they kept up with the party.

"Yuri," Bram called out in a gentle voice, "the others are making something for us to eat. I'd like it if you helped them."

"Aye-aye, Captain," Uriana responded with an attempt at a salute. Both Bram and Rosa chuckled at the imitation. Uriana smiled back and headed toward the Kitezhians, skipping along the way.

"She's a very special girl," Rosa stated. Bram found it hard to tear his eyes away from the child to acknowledge the comment.

"Yes," he finally agreed. "I suppose she told you about Ur?"

Rosa nodded. "She told me that her home is gone, and that she was the only survivor. Although, from the eyes of a child, things must have looked very different. I can piece much of it together myself, but maybe you can fill in the blanks?"

Bram sat down near Rosa, his tongue tied the moment he opened his mouth. Thinking back to his experience at Ur brought him nothing but pain and regret. He struggled to put it into words, but eventually strung together some thoughts.

"I've wanted to tell you, Rosa, but it's been difficult. I don't understand why that is, either. I've seen death before, and you know that much of it has been by my own hand. Still, the massacre that morning left me with memories I can't erase." Bram thought of Kane, and he gritted his teeth. "Those people were _murdered_."

His fists clenched, and his face grimaced. Rosa put her hand against his cheek, and peered into his turbulent eyes. Her lips trembled, and he could tell it frightened her. "Tell me what happened, Bram. I've never seen you so tormented."

Bram felt terrible for laying his burdens on her so soon after her recovery. "I … I'm sorry. It's selfish of me to go on like this."

Rosa looked at him crossly. "Don't you dare consider it selfish, Abraham Morrison! We must support each other, now more than ever. It's too hard for either of us to bear by ourselves."

He looked at her and his face softened. How could he debate such a serious look?

"Very well," he began, and told her everything about the mission—from the moment he and Kane left Niedam to the moment he found her at Géorg Töller's home in Saladin.

Rosa listened intently. Her face portrayed many emotions—compassion for the people of Ur and for Uriana, sorrow for the destruction of the beautiful jungle valley, rage for Kane's betrayal, wonder for the aeons who came to defend the villagers from the fiery spawn, and disbelief for the titan who appeared at the end to finish the job.

She moved her head slowly from side to side. "I had no idea the pain you've endured. I can see now how you came to open your heart to this child, to protect her from harm, even in spite of the danger."

"He tried to stop me, Rosa—Kane told me it was in my best interest to follow orders. He actually believed what he was doing was _right_! I don't know what happened to him. The man I used to know—the one who stood up and protected me when we were children—he _never_ would have accepted an order to harm innocent people. He would have stood by my side to defend them!"

"People change with time," Rosa explained. "When Kane left to join the Templars, he committed himself to a society that would enact the will of the king without question. They train for that, Bram—and for that matter, so do most Gnostics."

Bram shook his head. He was beginning to realize the darkness that he had tacitly accepted the moment he joined the Knights. But no longer! "_Never again_—from now on, I am my own man."

"As you always should be," she told him with eyes filled with compassion.

Bram thought back to the mistakes he made as a Knight. All the times he had slain innocents in the course of following orders. How many more would die before Angkor was stopped?

"Bram—"

He gazed at her, the woman who was his present and his future. It was time to stop dwelling on the past.

"What is it, Rosa?"

"There's still one thing I don't understand. Why the mission to Ur in the first place? I can't believe King Richard would order the genocide of an entire tribe just because of you. Have you pondered ulterior motives?"

Bram nodded. "I've been asking myself the same thing. Kane let something slip before the enchanted box opened. I know he was following orders from someone other than King Richard. It had to be Virgil, which means that the Conjurion tribe was somehow a threat to him."

"Well, clearly their powers to summon aeons could be used against him," Rosa reasoned. "Perhaps he feared the Conjurions would stand against his search for the sunstones."

"Perhaps," Bram agreed, "but there was no sign to suggest the Conjurions were even aware of the sunstones. Besides, the village fell too easily to the enchanted box. Clearly, their powers alone would not have been enough to stand against the full power of the sunstone. The villagers just weren't strong enough—all except for one, anyway."

"What are you getting at, Bram?"

"I'm talking about Yuri, Rosa. Her strength was more than the rest of her village, combined. _She_ summoned the titan!"

Rosa looked back in disbelief. "Surely there must be another explanation. Uriana can't be more than six years of age. Few children can even begin their magical training so young. Are you sure there wasn't another survivor who performed the summons?"

Bram shook his head. "I know what I saw. When I battled Kane, she was scared and cried out. A golden glow surrounded her body, and the titan appeared shortly thereafter. The same glow surrounded her when she … when she held off Virgil's poison." Bram had a tough time reliving that moment. He took in a shaky breath. "We didn't think you were going to make it, but Yuri's powers saved your life!"

Rosa seemed to struggle for a response. "I wasn't conscious at the time, so I can't explain it. But either way, the dragon weevil serum ultimately cured the poison."

"Then how about this—you can detect the power of other wizards, right? What do your senses tell you when you use them on Uriana?"

Rosa looked shocked. "I … I didn't think to try."

"Then let's find out." Bram rose from his seat, and extended his arm so that Rosa might take hold. She stared back with a powerfully skeptical look.

"Please, Rosa—I need to know what Yuri is capable of doing."

Though clearly still reluctant, Rosa took him by the hand and followed to where Uriana still helped Józef's servants prepare lunch. "Yuri," Bram called to her, "please come here for a moment."

Uriana was so eager to answer his call that she nearly dropped an armful of vegetables that she had been helping to bring to the stew pot. One of the white wizards offloaded the items using a simple spell, which caused the clumps of chopped onions, carrots, and potatoes to float freely in the air toward the pot. As soon as her arms were free, Uriana ran to Bram and took hold of his free hand. He let go of Rosa and closed both hands around the child's.

"Yuri," he began in a soft voice, "Rosa would like to ask you a question. Now, I want you to be truthful to her. Promise?"

"Okay," Uriana responded.

Rosa took the girl aside, knelt down, and with a smile placed both hands on her shoulders reassuringly. Looking at her fondly, Rosa asked if her mother had ever taught her magic.

"All the time," Uriana responded with endearing enthusiasm. "Lots of people did. It's because mommy was chief, and some day, I was gonna be, too."

"What's this?" Rosa asked, noticing a silver chain around the girl's neck. It was attached to a dark stone, about the size of a thumbnail. The way it refracted the light was beautiful—enthralling, really—certainly not something that she expected to adorn the neck of a tribesperson.

"My mommy gave it to me," said Uriana, with a hint of sadness.

"She must have really loved you," Rosa said assuredly, while running her fingers across the child's cheek.

She looked up to Bram and nodded. He took Uriana by the hand once again. "Thank you, Yuri. I'll spend some time with you later, but for now, please finish helping with lunch."

"Promise?" Uriana asked with a hint of disappointment at having to return to her chores.

"I promise," Bram agreed.

When she was out of sight, Rosa and Bram returned to their private area. Rosa took a deep breath and explained her findings.

"It's as you suggested, Bram. I can't explain it, but there is more power in that little girl than I have ever sensed in a single person. Fully developed, she could bless armies … or level mountains." Rosa let the message sink in before continuing. "Did you notice the pendant she bears around her neck?"

Bram shook his head. "Actually, no. So much has happened since we met up, I haven't had a chance to get to know her."

"I can tell she really cares about you, though," Rosa affirmed. "Sometimes, it just takes a woman's touch. I bring up the pendant because I sense magic in it—but it's strange. It seems very unique and personal to her. It could be an enchantment cast by her mother for protection, but it's unlike anything I've ever seen."

Bram looked at her, puzzled. "Something _you've_ not seen, Rosa?"

The white wizard smirked and gave an indignant look. "I doubt it's anything to be alarmed about. After all, many ancient spells no longer exist in our time. Perhaps the Ur tribe held more secrets than we realized. By the way, do you know if Uriana has chosen an affinity?" Rosa referred to whether she favored white or black magic.

"I figured white, since she helped you with the magical toxin," Bram responded

"Sometimes, gifted children can cast both kinds of magic," Rosa explained. "Only when they become older do they develop an affinity."

Bram nodded. "She hasn't mentioned it to me."

"Either way, we must be very careful. If what you suspect is true, then perhaps Yuri's powers run in the family. Yuri's mother was chief, so perhaps your mission to assassinate the chief wasn't a cover story after all."

Bram thought about it. "Maybe … but either way, it's more important than ever that others don't discover Yuri's powers. I've been very careful with her identity. Matthias and Géorg know the truth, because they were there when she saved your life—but no one else is any wiser, including King Brandt. We must keep it that way."

"I agree, but I'd like to speak with her further. When we continue our ascent, I'll do so."

Bram agreed. He and Rosa returned to the group for lunch. The wizards had put together a pot of lamb and vegetable stew, which sent a sweet aroma into the air. They ate under the warm sun, encouraged by its gentle rays. There was even time for small talk, and a few exchanges of laughter. But it would not last long. There was still much ground to cover before dark.


	55. Chapter 5: Part III

**.**

* * *

**Part III**

_Afternoon of Primoris, Ninth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

In a darkened cell far below Angkor's capital, Cedric Curtis anxiously awaited his fate. Many years had passed since anyone stewed behind the rusted iron bars. After the War, King Richard had decommissioned the dungeons, promising his citizens never to resort to inhumane treatment again. He went to great lengths to bury its sordid past—ironically, by using his position of power to threaten or intimidate the same people he had once ordered to commit the dark deeds there.

With all those directly involved now sworn to secrecy, Angkor's citizens started to believe that the contemptible acts they had heard about were nothing more than rumors—legends told by crazed vagabonds under lamplight to scare passersby. Cedric had been fooled to think the same way, until he saw the rooms used for torture and interrogation firsthand. Supposedly, dozens of captured enemy soldiers had once been forced to squat in a single cell without food or water. Some had lost their minds within those walls, and many more had not survived.

The air itself carried the stale but unmistakable scent of anguish, as if the souls of the dead yearned to escape their eternal prison. Their long-lost cries of anger and suffering seeped into Cedric's skin as he pondered what lay ahead. He was truly, mortally afraid. The empty hours chipped away at his courage, hollowing out a once solid and respectable man. He was unprepared to handle the solitary confinement, and soon found himself sobbing uncontrollably.

He wished he had stayed at home instead of venturing to the hangar that day. He should have never become involved, and certainly should not have tried to confront King Richard. Things were out of his hands, and he had been foolish to even try. These were the words he repeated to the cold stone walls, a creed full of rue and regret.

He wondered if he would die, alone and forgotten in this unremembered pit. His stomach churned and cramped as he bit at his fingernails—a nervous habit he thought he had conquered long ago, until it resurfaced, all of a sudden. Very quickly, there was nothing left to bite, and he felt a warm liquid slide along his quivering lip, then drip from the straggly strands of his beard. He sucked on the wound, cursing himself and his damned ego.

The hours grew long, and he had no way of knowing how many had passed. The blackness destroyed all comprehension of time. He lay on his back with eyes wide open, though on occasion they would end up closed as well. It was a useless exercise, since he was unable to sleep.

His restless mind dwelled on fear and uncertainty until the sound of footsteps shattered the silence like a thunderclap. For the briefest of moments, he rejoiced at the broken monotony, but his hopes soon disintegrated. He imagined the approach of his executioner … the men who were coming to interrogate him … to torture and maim his frail body until he told them everything they wanted to know. The clamping and clomping of the footsteps nearly drove him insane!

"Who goes there?" he blurted out, instantly wishing he could take it back and duck into his cell's darkest corner.

At first, silence. He waited in dreaded anticipation for the darkness to speak—and it did.

"Be at ease, Mister Curtis. It is I."

The disembodied voice sounded like Richard Cromwell's, but it brought no light with it, and could have come from any creature. Shivers raced up Cedric's spine, causing him to scrunch against the wall behind his cot to cower.

"Don't be afraid, I'm not here to harm you," the ethereal voice promised. "I was deeply saddened when I learned that you'd been treated this way, so I came all this way to make amends."

Cedric was too terrified to speak. While his eyes could see nothing, his mind conjured up images of demons and dark magic.

"Dearest Cedric," the voice pressed with eerie sweetness, "you know I would not have traveled all this way for just anyone. I'm here because of _you_, and your loyalty to our kingdom these many years. I believe that deserves some recompense."

"Recompense?" The word slipped out of Cedric's mouth, a knee-jerk response to the sheer audacity of the words!

"Yes!" the voice brightened. "Angkor still needs you, Mister Curtis! Your designs are very important to us. We're in great need, and the Zounds project is our best hope for victory!"

Cedric was aghast. There was no way the voice could think that he could be tricked again so easily. "Who are you?" the craftsman demanded with an unwavering tone. "I witnessed the dark ritual performed in the levels above us. Richard is dead, replaced by a creature of … of abominable evil!"

The voice laughed. "Cedric, please, I'm still the same man. What you witnessed was the power of the Ahrimen, beings of immortal power—power that is now _mine_ to command. The sunstone has granted me gifts far beyond human comprehension!"

Ahriman … Cedric recalled hearing that word chanted throughout the ritual. They were also the demons responsible for the so-called Omega War, a well-known fairytale meant to frighten children. In the fables, they were four beings that raised an army of monsters from the planet's depths, which they used to destroy entire kingdoms. Cedric remembered the mural painted on the wall of the king's conference room, in which one aquatic-looking creature in particular resembled Richard's transformation. The realization swept over the craftsman, icing the blood that had been flowing furiously through his veins.

"What are you saying?" he asked with a shaky breath. "That the sunstones are somehow connected to these … demons of legend? And you intend to harness their powers, as if they were mere tools for your ambitions?"

The being that sounded like Richard answered firmly. "It's hardly as trite as you make it sound, Mister Curtis. The secrets of the sunstones have been lost to generations of ignorant worshippers and nations failing to recognize their true potential. We should not fear the Ahrimen's power any more than our ancestors feared the power to control fire. It _can_ be harnessed, and _now_ I have the means to do it!"

Cedric could not believe his ears, but gathered his wits to respond. "What would a kingdom need with such power? You would risk unleashing the wickedness of these fiends upon our world? For what? To defend our nation from insurgents?"

The Richardesque-being paused for a long period, creating a fog of silence more terrifying than the sound of its voice—but when it finally spoke, Cedric was unprepared for the answer.

"There are no insurgents, Mister Curtis. The stories were fabricated. I suppose it's only right that you know the truth."

The craftsman's heart was crushed. Whatever hope he held that his kingdom had acted justly withered, like a leaf long in servitude to its tree, now dried up and scattered to the wind. He had put his faith in his country and his king, but it had been misplaced from the very beginning! The whole thing was rotten to the core!

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," he choked. "You would have the Kitezhian people suffer for what? A lie? Have our own people not agonized through years of war, only to have their hopes for peace trampled by avarice?"

The betrayal heated Cedric's blood, giving him the courage to confront his so-called sovereign. "One of my own colleagues was murdered, for no other reason than his Kitezhian descent. Our nation's police arrested his family and took them to camps along the countryside—camps that offer naught but executions without trial! You'd do all this, and incite war, just so you can gain the Kitezhian sunstone?"

The voice of Richard sighed, almost convincingly. "Yes … and though you may not see the wisdom until my strategy comes to fruition, know that all I've done has been for the Angkorian people."

Cedric felt his temperature rise, pushing his fears aside and replacing them with fire. "Is that what you think!" he challenged, anger burning inside of him, rage that would not be quenched until he spoke his mind. "You can lie to yourself, Richard—or whoever you are, now—but I want nothing to do with it! The Ahrimen will offer you naught but ruin and destruction, and you're a _madman _for releasing them into our world."

The voice lashed back. "Watch your tone, Mister Curtis! I'm willing to grant you plenty of leeway, given your predicament, but you shall _not_ disrespect me!"

Cedric was torn, realizing he was in no position to fight back. So many emotions piled on at once, fighting and clawing to be recognized.

"Please," he whimpered, "I implore you … no power is worth committing such travesties!"

"Pull yourself together," the voice commanded mercilessly. "You're a smart man, but here you are, sniveling like a pathetic mess. You have no idea of the power attainable from these Ahrimen. You're still trapped in the shortsighted pursuits of a material world—locked in the confines of a mortal lifespan."

Cedric took shallow breaths, doing his best to repress his anxieties. "What are you saying?"

The voice went an octave lower. "I won't reveal the full extent of our strategy, but rest assured—when our plans are complete, we'll have keys to grant us immeasurable power! Human beings will rise to the level of _Gods_!"

Cedric remained silent, but he took in every word. The call for humankind's apotheosis must have been intended as inspiration, but instead it only served as proof of King Richard's hubris. Cedric feared for his kingdom, and his bones ached at the anticipated tragedy.

"Don't misunderstand," the voice assured. "I'm not naïve of the risks, but we have the means to control them. All I need is the complete set of sunstones in my possession. Now, I'll ask once more for your partnership. Think carefully before you answer, for the wrong choice will have dire consequences!"

Cedric was beyond the point of negotiating with this maniac. "What do you want from me?" he lobbed back. "You say you want my airship, but what good will it do you, now that you have the power of the sunstones?"

The Richard-being chuckled. "I have no need for Zounds as a war weapon, Mister Curtis. We have much greater plans in mind for your design. And there will be plenty of time for me to explain it to you, once you join me at my right hand."

Cedric was certain; whatever stood before his cell, it was not the king he once knew. He could never agree to provide his expertise or to complete his Zounds design for this madman. But, at the same time, he was also afraid to say no.

"What do you want me to say?" he whined. "You've already demonstrated the lengths you're willing to go, and the harm you've already inflicted upon innocent people. I want no part in such a dark enterprise!"

"Ah, but every blessing requires sacrifice," the voice argued, sounding very much like the Old King Richard. "I'll do whatever it takes to ensure this country's prosperity. After enduring some amount of hardship, the people will thank me for the greatness I shall deliver unto them. With all four sunstones, I can bestow everlasting gifts. I'll rebuild this country on a cornerstone of wealth and power that will last a thousand years! No—that will last an eternity! You will witness this, Mister Curtis—this I _promise_ you."

Cedric shook his head, despite the futility of such a gesture within his darkened cell. "My Lord … violence does not lead to peace. It only begets more violence. If you wish to serve your people, you must protect them, not subjugate them. They'll never forgive you—much less thank you—if their family or loved ones suffer under your rule."

The cheery tone of Old King Richard slipped away, once again replaced with the eerily similar voice of the madman.

"Bah! It matters not what you think. Besides, it's already too late to turn back. Even now, our neighbors in Koba and Vineta plot to attack our country with their own sunstones. I've tried long enough to convince you. Zounds _must_ be operational, and you're the only one familiar enough with the design to ensure its timely schedule. Either you agree to my terms, or you'll _pay_ for your impertinence!"

"Your Majesty …" Cedric wanted to stand firm. He could never follow such an order, but he felt weak and diminutive under this creature's intimidating threats. If Richard did still exist, he was caged inside this madman's mind and was no longer able to make things right. If Cedric agreed to its terms and delivered the Zounds airship, it would undoubtedly make things worse.

The craftsman uttered his response, his voice fleeting, but no less committed. His lips formed the words, while his breath very slowly left his lungs. "_I can't_ …."

Had there been enough light, he would have watched his former king's demeanor darken. "You are making a _profound_ mistake, Mister Curtis! One way or another, I'll have my airship. It matters not if you complete it from your comfortable office, or by candlelight in this prison cell!"

"Your Majesty, please! Consider what might happen if the Ahrimen turn against you."

"Silence!"

Cedric cringed at the rage and frustration steeped within the voice. At one time, he would have laid down his life for his king … but no more. Richard's benevolent spirit was long gone, a victim to the demon he had invited into his body.

"I'll not stand here and be lectured by the likes of you!" the creature huffed, followed by the sounds of footsteps retreating.

Cedric panicked, fearing he had made the wrong choice. He tried calling out, pleading to the empty darkness to give him another chance.

After a few minutes of silence, he returned to the cot in his cell and closed his eyes. Strangely enough, the restlessness soon made way for peace. Cedric had never stood up to authority before, but now the rush of defiance and the mortal terror of punishment crashed into a heap of adrenaline and dopamine. It felt good to uphold his principles. Despite whatever lay ahead in the darkness, the former Grand Craftsman drifted into a deep—and restful—sleep.


	56. Chapter 5: Part IV

**.**

* * *

**Part IV**

_Afternoon of Primoris, Ninth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

To the north of Koba and Kitezh was the Glacial Ocean, a vast region of violent waters and frigid temperatures. Of course, these dangers did not deter enterprising travelers intent on finding the quickest route between the nations of the Northern Continent. Those who braved the deadly torrents stood to gain a sizable advantage over their competition. No other thoroughfare allowed such large transports—in this case, ships carrying mammoth payloads of fiercely popular merchandise—to travel in so short a time. In just two and a half months, a merchant vessel could circumnavigate the continent, hit all major ports, and return home with a hull full with gold.

Of course, as entrepreneurs often said, "One successful enterprise begets another."

Along with the success of merchant vessels, instances of pirating increased—and in order to keep up, nautical accessorizing became the norm. Engineering guilds produced more advanced weaponry, smithies forged hardened defenses, and mercenaries provided the raw muscle. An entire ecosystem evolved, and on any bright and clear afternoon, a person looking north from Mount Abakai could see dozens of ships decked out with bevies of battle gear en route to their destinations.

Józef Brandt turned his attention to these distant vessels as he traversed the mountain path toward Koba. Their subtle movement captivated him, helping to ease the boredom, not to mention the sting of frostbite nipping at his toes. From his height, the ships looked like tiny insects carrying food across a blue picnic blanket.

His stomach growled as he reminisced of happier times. His father used to take him on picnics along the western Kitezhian hillside. He remembered the wonderfully catered spreads of meats and pastries, while he basked in the summer sunshine, carefree and playing on his lute. A cold wind blew against his face, reminding him of his very real trudge through the mountains, on his way to warn Koba of the approaching enemy. His toes were already feeling pins and needles, but fortunately his white wizards were nearby, ready to offer their healing powers.

As he marched, the path turned hazardous as the sun melted the snow and fierce winds refroze it into a solid sheet of ice. Fortunately, Bram explained that the trail would turn inland in another league or two, continuing its descent into the warmer eastern valley. Józef hoped to get there before dark, so the group made haste. Bram even carried Uriana on his shoulders to quicken the pace. Freed from the burden of walking, she seemed to enjoy it immensely, smiling and giggling in stark contrast to the rest of the group, who slogged forward with miserable looks upon their faces.

Józef was anxious as he anticipated the return of his scouts. He had sent them ahead in search of spawn, since Mountain trolls were known to lurk in the region. These blue-furred hulks often laid in wait to ambush unwary travelers.

In addition, the scouts would survey the integrity of the trail, which had begun to recede. Years of erosion under harsh weather conditions had sections of the path creeping dangerously close to the northern ledge. One wrong step, and the drop was hundreds of spans, straight into the ocean.

During the War, Kitezhian and Koban caravans had brought black wizards to forge new routes whenever necessary. Black magic was ideal for melting ice and carving out rock, but Józef had only brought white wizards. Their magic was not as useful in rerouting the trail, but they were still able to detect potential problems, which was why he had sent them forward along with the scouts. When they finally returned, the male wizard reported news that confirmed Józef's suspicions.

"Your Majesty, we have a problem," he began with trepidation in his voice. "The path ahead is completely iced over, and I would advise against any attempt to cross it. Anyone who loses his or her footing will slide straight off the edge of the mountain!"

Józef cursed. He had been eager to get to the other side before dark, and any delays would make it that much harder to reach Koba's capital in time.

"Maybe I can help?" Bram suggested, who had been standing nearby. "Allow Rosa and me to evaluate the area. She may have just recovered from her illness, but she's still one of the most capable white wizards in Angkor. We'd like to use her magic to dislodge the sheet of ice, and push it straight off the path."

Józef let out a deep breath, feeling relieved. "Is there anything you need from me?"

Bram shook his head. "No, we'll be fine on our own. Just watch over Yuri while I'm gone."

Uriana whimpered as Bram removed her from his shoulders, but he assured her that he would return shortly. Nevertheless, she took Józef's hand with sadness in her eyes and distrust painted all over her face. Józef offered her a reassuring smile, but all he got in return was a pouting face.

Once again, the wind blew, sending shivers to everyone in the group. Józef did not want to be exposed to the elements while awaiting Bram's and Rosa's return, so he asked his scouts if they had seen any places to use for shelter. One of them mentioned a hollow further up the trail, so Józef suggested they set up camp there. It was a small trek across the icy snow, but the small cavern provided a nice reprieve. It successfully cut down on the wind, though small drafts still circulated, whistling shrilly as they passed through tiny fissures in the rocks. Józef held Uriana's hand, but the child never took her eyes off the cave's entrance.

He wondered about her origin, and was intently curious how Bram had found her. She seemed so different from other children, who would be in the throes of a wailing tantrum over the harsh weather. The mountain climb was hard on everyone, but Uriana never made a fuss. While everyone else huddled for warmth, she seemed to be oblivious. Clearly there was something unique about her.

Bram and Rosa had always kept the young girl close to their sides, staying tight-lipped about her past. It made Józef wonder what they wanted to keep hidden so badly. The knight had been a trustworthy guide, but he also carried many unsettling secrets.

Józef almost jumped when a hand slid onto his shoulder.

"Forgive me, Sire," his male white wizard apologized in a soft voice, "but I wished to speak with you about a certain _observation_."

Józef let out a breath of relief, realizing he had too much pent up anxiety. "Yes, of course."

He signaled to his female white wizard, asking her to watch over Uriana so he could give the male his full attention. The female wizard took the child by the hand and led her to the other side of the cavern. Once again, Uriana pouted at being handled by a stranger, but followed without further complaint.

When both were out of earshot, the male wizard addressed his liege. "Your Majesty, I wanted to make you aware of something my colleague and I have noticed about the child."

"Yes, please go on," Józef requested, eager to hear a clue about her origin.

The man continued. "All wizards have the ability to detect the strength of other users. As a general habit, I sense the abilities of all the people I encounter, including those whose powers may be latent or overlooked by a more careless wizard. Ever since joining with the Gnostic Knight and his unique company, I have been testing their strengths. The one named Rosa, for example, is indeed more powerful than either myself or my colleague. That alone should merit caution."

Józef already knew about Rosa's powers, and he was far more interested in hearing about Uriana. So he urged the man to continue.

"Yes, My Lord. Regarding the child, she is quite unique. Whenever I use my sensing abilities, I am immediately overwhelmed. It feels like a thermometer with too much mercury and not enough tubing—it simply defies all my experience. I do not have an explanation just yet, but I felt you should know."

Józef took a moment to process the information. Wizardry had been one of the core subjects provided by his royal tutors—but unfortunately, he had only managed to absorb bits and pieces. "Are you saying that she may have innate skills that are greater than yours … or even Rosa's?"

The man nodded. "Yes, and I also noticed how the Gnostic behaves around her. He hides something, and it may benefit Your Majesty to demand an answer."

"Thank you, and good work," Józef praised. "However, I would like to give Bram more time to trust me before demanding an answer from him. He is our guide, after all."

The wizard frowned, but was willing to accept his king's direction. "As you wish, my Lord. I will continue to monitor the child, and—" He stopped suddenly, his eyes dashing about the whistling rocks of the cavern. "The child, where is she?"

Józef scanned the area as well, realizing that Uriana was nowhere to be seen.

"You there!" he called to the female wizard, who was supposed to be watching her. His sharp command gave the woman a start. "Where is the child? You were asked to look after her!"

Realization struck her immediately. "Oh, no!" she wailed. "The others complained of frostbite … and I only turned my head for a moment! Forgive me, Your Majesty! I failed you—"

Józef was one foot out of the cavern before she even finished.

"Your Majesty!" both wizards called after him.

"Stand down," Józef commanded. "Uriana was my responsibility, and she cannot have gone far. Stay here, and I will return when I find her—that is an order!" He did not wait for them to acknowledge. He saw the child's footprints, and he followed them hastily.

His heart raced as he considered the possible consequences. A small child alone on a treacherous mountain sent chills up his spine. The slippery trail, the dangerous cliffside, the potential for mountain trolls … Józef prayed to Gaia that he would reach her before anything terrible happened. He had been careless, and Bram would never forgive him if he discovered his negligence!

The young king was in full sprint, tripping over frost heaves and rocks along the way. His face turned beet red as he drew in deep ragged breaths. When he finally found her, she stood a short distance ahead of him. He hurried to catch up.

Bram and Rosa were directly ahead of Uriana. The knight turned around, just as the child clutched onto his waist. Józef limped over to meet them.

"I am … terribly sorry," he apologized, still gasping for breath, though Bram did not look too concerned. It was clear to Józef that he had overreacted, yet another symptom of his ongoing anxiety. Even so, he was relieved that nothing terrible had happened. "Evidently, you … and the child … are inseparable!"

"There's no apologies necessary," Bram stated. "I should have never left her in the first place. Unfortunately, Rosa and I have some bad news. The path ahead is completely iced over, and the blockage is much too massive for Rosa to push aside with her magic."

Józef's heart sank. "Is there no way to melt it?"

Rosa let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty—I mean, Józef. Melting ice requires black magic, and my magic doesn't work that way. Our hope was to lift it, but it's frozen solid, and I'm just not strong enough."

"I can melt it," a child's voice offered, causing all three adults to whip their heads around to Uriana's direction.

"Yuri, please!" Bram admonished. "We'll talk about it later."

"No, Bram, let her speak," Rosa interjected.

"But we can't!" the knight asserted, his eyes seemingly trying to communicate a message that Józef was not privy to.

The young king stepped forward. "Bram, be at peace. My wizards have already informed me of the child's powers. I know you have tried to keep them hidden, but if she can help, we need her to try."

The knight's face hardened to a slab of stone, but Józef was undeterred. "Bram, please … I have already put my faith in you as our guide. The least you could do is offer me some trust in return. I swear to do everything in my power to help you protect this child."

Bram's face was starting to crack. Józef let his silent and persistent gaze do the speaking for him, until the stone gave way. The knight maintained a stolid expression as he turned toward Uriana. "Yuri, we need your help. If you know how to melt the ice, could you please try?"

The knight looked wounded. Exposing Uriana's powers must have been hard for him, and Józef wondered briefly if his own father used to worry in the same way. Józef was the only heir to the Kitezhian throne, but he had left his kingdom on numerous occasions—each time potentially putting himself in harm's way. Henrich Brandt must have worried for his son, much as Bram now worried for Uriana. Józef only hoped he could prove himself more responsible for Uriana's safety than he had done for his own.

Meanwhile, the young girl smiled, looking glad to be useful. The ice ahead of her ran slickly along the ground, creating a slope that ran straight to the cliff's edge. Certain death was sure to greet anyone careless enough to slip on it. Nevertheless, Uriana stepped forward brazenly with arms raised. Bram nearly tripped over himself to grab her, but it was not necessary. Her feet never touched the ice, instead hovering a short distance above it. She walked to the center of the blockage, all while moving her fingers in intricate patterns, like weaving cloth.

Rosa gasped. "I've never seen a spell so complex!"

All at once, a sunburst of energy erupted from the child's body. For a moment, it felt to Józef like springtime, when warm desert air from Saladin blew across the Kitezhian countryside, making it feel like an early summer. Meanwhile, the snow at his feet melted rapidly, first pooling into shallow puddles, then pouring into rills of water over the cliff's edge. The ice grew thinner, until at last it exposed the rocky earth below. Józef and Rosa watched with wide open mouths.

"Blessed Gaia," Rosa breathed, looking completely aghast. "I've never seen anyone cast a spell like that!"

Józef stared at the exposed stones and pebbles, marveling at the transformation.

Bram approached and put his hand on Józef's shoulder. "It appears I owe you an explanation. You see, Yuri is a Conjurion from Ur. I saved her from danger, and along with Rosa, we're just beginning to understand her powers. I'm sure you realize how dangerous it would be if she were to fall into the hands of our enemy."

The knight's eyebrows scrunched, and he looked at Józef pleadingly. "Please … for her sake, keep this experience between us."

Józef nodded, still too much in shock to tell the knight something comforting.

"Thank you, Yuri," Bram told the young Conjurion. "We're grateful for your help."

The child beamed at the compliment.

"Well," Józef spoke hesitantly, "I suppose I will need to tell my wizards that Rosa melted the ice, but I hardly think they will believe it."

"Tell them that Bram carried a magical scroll that he had received from the gray wizard," Rosa suggested. "Some whites are able to cast black magic when in written form."

"Ah, yes … good idea," Józef agreed.

"We should move forward," Bram stated. "The day wanes, and we'll need to find shelter before dark. Spawn roam the region, so we won't be able to light a fire tonight."

Józef nodded once again as he led Bram, Rosa, and Uriana back to camp.


	57. Chapter 5: Part V

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* * *

**Part V**

_Morning of Denuo, Tenth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Konrad gripped the edge of Géorg's sandskipper as it raced across the Kitezhian countryside. The one-armed man pushed hard on the throttle, moving as fast as he dared while still maintaining stability. The rectangular platform glided along the contours of hills and depressions, occasionally catching air as it crested over smaller knolls. Konrad held on tightly, shifting his weight as needed. Meanwhile, Géorg handled the steering with the skill of a master pilot. In spite of his single arm, he overcame turns that would have made any two-armed man careen into trees or boulders.

Konrad's gut was cramped with worry over reaching the capital in time before Captain Heinz Unruh, Minister of Security, seized the vote for surrogate king. The move was imminent, and if Lady White was correct, Unruh would attempt to counter-strike the Angkorian occupation as soon as he gained command.

While it was true the captain was a skilled strategist, he had the daunting task of removing a well-entrenched occupying force. Anything short of complete success, and the Network would be exposed. Even assuming Unruh did succeed, Angkor could still return with more men and airships, so it was more important than ever for Konrad to apply some leadership. It was his duty to keep the city safe until his liege returned with Koba's support—and he was already dangerously close to failing at his first task.

"We will approach the capital soon," Géorg announced. "How do you expect us to reach the Network?"

Konrad had not thought that far ahead. It might have been the last thing on his mind, but it was certainly not the least important. "It will depend on where we can find a weak spot in Angkor's defenses. There are many entrances, but we cannot risk the enemy finding a single one."

Konrad shifted his gaze upward. "Where are the airships? I had expected to see them ever since leaving Mount Abakai, but we have not observed any. You do not suppose they are over the city?"

"Let us hope not," Géorg answered. He did not need to elaborate. Konrad knew that if Angkor became impatient, they would gather their forces and drop more bombs until the Network was exposed. If they succeeded, the city would be ruined!

As they drew near, Géorg cut the throttle and let the sandskipper's momentum carry it downhill. It slowed the speed of the vehicle as well as quieted the noise of the engines. Rungholt would be visible over the next hilltop, and he did not want to give away his location to any soldiers at the gates.

"Wait, listen!" Konrad commanded. "Can you hear it?"

Géorg pulled up to a large limestone boulder. In the distance, just barely audible, was the soft din of men screaming.

"Great Gaia, help us!" Konrad breathed. "The battle has begun. We must help them!"

The one-armed man looked back helplessly. "But what can _we_ do?"

Konrad wiped away drops of sweat from his brow. His stomach was in knots, and he needed to think clearly. "I do not know."

Géorg looked at him, pleadingly. It was up to Konrad to provide some leadership—there was no one else! He rubbed his eyes, repeating, "Think, think!" as if doing so would somehow provide an answer. Yet, nothing came, and he was desperate.

"First, we should move in closer, to get an assessment of the battle," he suggested.

"What?" Géorg responded, incredulously. "And risk being seen?"

"No, hear me out," Konrad explained. "If battles have broken loose, Angkor will be too distracted to ever notice us. We can use the vantage of the hilltop to look inside and determine our next course of action."

"Fair enough," Géorg agreed as he restarted the engine. Konrad tensed as the sandskipper climbed the hill. He dreaded what he might find, yet he had to move forward. He had to do _something_!

When he reached the top of the hill, he was filled with bewilderment. He had expected to see clusters of chaos interspersed with the occasional explosion of black wizardry. But other than a few smoldering buildings and some toppled structures, there were no active skirmishes.

"It was not the sound of battle," Géorg announced loudly, wearing a delightful smile. "We heard the sounds of celebration. The battle is over, Konrad, and we are victorious!"

Konrad was astonished, but hesitant to join in the jubilation. True, the results were better than he could have hoped for, but the fact that it had gone so well must have meant only one thing.

"We should hurry inside," he suggested with a long face.

"Are you not as happy as I am?" Géorg asked, looking confused.

"Of course," Konrad responded tersely, "it is very good news, but I am worried for what it means politically. Captain Unruh has exceeded my best expectations, but for him to have made it this far means he has already gained the surrogate vote. Not only that, but this victory will work generously in his favor."

Géorg still looked confused. "What are you saying?"

Konrad sighed. "I am saying that our true king may return to find himself without a throne." He watched the euphoria drain from Géorg's face.

"But … surely His Majesty still has loyal supporters," the one-armed man argued.

"Indeed he has," Konrad agreed, his mind already working on gaming out various scenarios. "Do not lose hope … but also, do not underestimate the power of effective results."

The two men descended the hill in plain sight. As they approached the front gate, Konrad saw the essence of Unruh's strategy. He must have started a diversion from the inside to lure the guards away from the southern gate. With no one left to man the fortifications, a battalion from outside forced their way in, leaving the enemy surrounded. He might have used a similar tactic at the other gates as well. In spite of the damage to the walls, it was nice to see Kitezhians once again in charge of entry.

"Master Rommel," one of the soldiers called out with a salute. "Welcome back! Your timing could not have been better. The final skirmishes ended an hour ago."

"Well done, Lieutenant," Konrad responded. "I suppose Captain Unruh deserves our congratulations."

"That would be _King _Unruh, now," the lieutenant corrected. "I can show you inside, if you wish."

Konrad cringed, but quickly brought himself under control before the lieutenant could notice. "Yes, please do."

When the man's back was turned, Konrad exchanged a private glance with Géorg. From the look on the one-armed man's face, it seemed they both felt the same level of discomfort.

The lieutenant led them to the city's center, to an upscale inn called _Die Goldene Gans_—Kitezhian for 'The Golden Goose'. Further north, the palace was in ruins, so the inn was an obvious choice for Unruh to run his operations. It had all the sumptuous accommodations that royalty demanded, and the building's opulent size was enough to quarter nearly all of Kitezh's governing bodies.

Inside, it bustled with people. Ministers and military personnel traversed the halls, each looking eager to reestablish control. Konrad saw many familiar faces, each wearing different expressions—from relief and cheerfulness, to anxiety and discontent. Evidently, the survivors had mixed feelings over the new leadership.

King Unruh walked the halls as well, giving directions to a balding administrator who carried an armful of scrolls. Upon seeing Konrad, he cut his conversation short. The bald man excused himself, trying to reach his next destination without dropping the documents—though he was clearly unsuccessful. As the administrator stumbled for his papers, Unruh beckoned Konrad to join him inside a nearby conference room. The king's entourage tried to follow, but he stopped them at the door.

"I would like to speak with my Primary Minister in private," Unruh told them. They dispersed quickly, leaving Unruh as the only man in the room.

Konrad followed him inside and opened with an overly exuberant bow. "Your Majesty."

Géorg was still at his side and attempted to perform the same respectful gesture.

"Who is this?" Unruh demanded, waving his hand in Géorg's general direction. "We have important matters to discuss."

Konrad stepped forward to make a formal introduction. "Your Majesty, allow me to introduce Mister Géorg Töller of Saladina residence, formerly of Kitezhian origin. Géorg, this is Kitezh's new surrogate king, Heinz Unruh: ruler of the kingdom, executor of the legislation, protector of the sunstone—"

Konrad stumbled over the last part. He had said it so many times that it had become force of habit. It was, after all, the official title for the Kitezhian king. Yet, given the sunstone's theft, he wished he had phrased it differently.

Unruh rolled his eyes impatiently. "If I may interrupt, I would like to learn the whereabouts of my ward. Where is the prince?"

"Kin—uh, _Master_ Brandt is currently en route to Koba, Your Majesty," Konrad answered.

The surrogate king was unreadable. He started out looking displeased, but then Konrad swore he saw a smile creep upon his lips. If so, the expression quickly faded, and Unruh was once again all-business.

"So," he mused, "the heir is intent upon his voyage, after all … I had assumed after seeing you here that _the boy_ had reconsidered. I had _hoped_ he would see the folly of his ridiculous expedition."

Konrad was angered to hear his master mocked so carelessly. His new position notwithstanding, Unruh should remember that surrogate kings were still servants of the Brandt family!

"Master Brandt is serious about reaching Tiahuanaco," he responded. "He believes he can return with Koba's aid, and I have already vouched for his guide—"

"You mean the _Gnostic_?" Unruh spoke the word with more than a hint of disgust.

Konrad had finally reached his limit of Unruh's flippant attitude, but he forced himself to remember his place. "Yes, Sire, though you should know that I have observed Sir Morrison's noble intentions on several occasions. I feel confident that he has no desire to double-cross us."

"So you say," Unruh shot back, "though in my opinion you are naïve to put your faith into one of Cromwell's faithful hounds."

Konrad clenched his teeth. "It was not _my_ decision. By every measure, Master Brandt was my liege at the time, and his orders were _perfectly_ clear."

Unruh scoffed. "The _boy_ has no sense! That is why _I_ am king and _he_ is traipsing around the Koban wilderness with an Angkorian spy who may have already slit his throat—"

"How _dare_ you!" Konrad could hold back his ire no longer. He lashed out without thinking, and it was too late to bite his tongue. He was ready to tell the surrogate king precisely what he thought. "You do _not_ get to second guess the master's decisions! By going behind the master's back, you have undermined the very institution you profess to protect!"

Unruh's demeanor hardened, and Konrad shrank back. "Watch yourself, Mister Rommel. I did what I had to. It was a matter of days—_not weeks_—before Angkor would have leveled the city to find our Network. What would you have me do? Wait on the false hope that the heir returns with reinforcements? I did what I could to save us from immediate danger. I bought us _time_!"

He drove his forefinger into Konrad's chest, glaring. "As for you, it is time you make your loyalties clear. If you intend to subvert my rule, then I shall be forced to hold you in contempt as a traitor. On the other hand, I could use your experience to rebuild our nation. If you swear fealty to me—with a _strong _oath—I shall allow you to retain your rank and position."

Konrad's entire body clenched. "You cannot do that—"

"I can and I shall, Mister Rommel! Do not let me grow impatient!"

Konrad shrank backward, unprepared to respond to a direct threat of imprisonment. He lived to serve the Brandt family, but he would be powerless to do anything behind bars. Yet, he was filled with revulsion over the idea of publicly serving the man who hoisted the kingdom from under its rightful ruler. His mind searched for a third option, but he found nothing! There was no other option, and Unruh's hard stare told him with no uncertainty that he had a time limit—and it was running out. His entire body shook as he sank to one knee. He recited an oath from memory, hardly hearing the words as they poured from his mouth.

"I, Konrad Rommel, do formally swear my allegiance to the king of Kitezh, Heinz Unruh, on my soul and the souls of my ancestors, for as long as he shall reign."

He felt sick, and only hoped that Unruh would not take umbrage with the grimace on his face.

"And you?" Unruh demanded, pointing to Géorg.

Géorg also lowered himself to his knee and repeated the phrase that Konrad had uttered. He did not hide his discomfort, either. "I, Géorg Töller … do formally swear my allegiance to the king of Kitezh, Heinz Unruh, on my … soul … and the souls of my ancestors, for as long as he shall reign."

Unruh looked satisfied. "Rise, my servants. I realize it may be hard for you to abandon the prince on his quest, but there are more dire matters for us now. The lives of everyone in this city are threatened. We must attack Angkor while we still have the advantage."

Konrad's eyes widened. As if it were not bad enough already, Unruh proposed that they attack the ogre's den! Did he hope to ride to victory based solely on the success of a single battle? Konrad almost wanted to lash out again, but he remembered his oath.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he mumbled, stifling all objections.

Unruh seemed to notice, and offered Konrad a hand on his shoulder. His look of sympathy almost appeared genuine. "Do not despair, Mister Rommel. We were more successful than you think in taking back the city. We captured a number of Angkorian soldiers, and our experienced interrogators are questioning them now. We also gained three of Angkor's airships, in addition to the ones we have hidden."

Unruh referred to a secret stash that Kitezh had maintained after the War, in egregious violation of the disarmament treaties. Angkor had forced them to dismantle their air force, but Kitezh had kept about a half dozen ships hidden over the years.

"Our engineers are already inspecting them," Unruh added.

Konrad suddenly felt a spark of hope. "That would give us eight or nine in total," he mused, using his fingers to keep track of his mental count. "Still quite small compared to Angkor's fleet."

"There is more," Unruh assured. "We have already learned from a few of the captured Angkorians that their forces are scattered and in disarray. Cromwell made a profound error in his allocation, spreading his armies too far out to respond if we attack in a timely fashion. We only need to disable their government infrastructure, and it will create chaos … at least enough for us to form alliances and rebuild our forces. In fact, I have already reopened the ports and sent ships to Koba. If Master Brandt makes it there, we can send for him, too."

Konrad started feeling better, and was already beginning to relax. Perhaps Unruh's leadership was the best thing for Kitezh, at least until the true heir returned. Still, even with an air fleet of nine and Angkor in disarray, Unruh intended to attack their capital city. It seemed like an impossible task!

"May I offer something, Sire?" Géorg proposed.

Unruh spun around to face the one-armed man, looking as if he forgot Géorg was standing there. "Mister Töller, do you know of something that can help?"

Géorg smirked, looking full of confidence. "I believe I do. As Konrad mentioned, I come from Saladin, where I have lived for many years. During this time, I made some powerful friends, including some of the Clan Lords."

Unruh's eyes brightened at the mention of these men. Before the War, they fought as revolutionaries, but since the liberation, they became entrenched in the establishment, gathering vast riches in the process. Once Angkor made Saladin an independent state through the treaties, the Clan Lords exposed themselves publicly without fear of retribution. Saladin became a commercial hub at the center of the continent, and the Clan Lords soon became wealthy and prominent business moguls.

The irony was that much of their initial wealth came at the expense of the Kitezhian and Angkorian forces that fell over the course of the War. In the aftermath of battles, Clan Lords sent men to collect the weapons, armor, and magical artifacts left behind in the desert. Géorg had spent his own time collecting these items, which he sold to fund his herbal shop. In due course, he ran into a number of Clan Lords interested in his findings, through which he forged some useful relationships. The only question was where the Clan Lords' loyalties lay now. Fortunately, Géorg was quick to provide an answer.

"I do not believe the Clan Lords hold any more ill will toward Kitezh," he explained. "Our country has changed leadership, and things are different now. I believe that if we compensate them monetarily, they would be willing to part with some of their treasures. This might include the necessary parts to build additional airships."

Unruh seemed quite pleased. "Well done," he praised, along with a pat on Géorg's back. "You have my permission to speak with them. Ask Lady White if you can use her magic to make contact."

Géorg nodded. "Yes, my Lord."

"You may go now, Mister Töller. There is still much I must discuss with Mister Rommel. I will ask my staff to allow you free access throughout the inn."

The one-armed man bowed and left the conference room. A guard entered, and Unruh whispered a few words to him. When the man departed, Konrad was alone with his new king.

"Sit, Mister Rommel," Unruh commanded while motioning to a nearby chair. "We have much to discuss in terms of strategy …."


	58. Chapter 5: Part VI

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* * *

**Part VI**

_Afternoon of Denuo, Tenth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

It took three days to travel from Koba's capital of Tiahuanaco to the eastern base of Mount Abakai, assuming a person was trained for long marches. However, riding atop a viscar reduced it to one. Quon Nan, mounted on one of these majestic animals, led his elite squadron into the foothills.

They were known as the Kenju Warriors. Among their responsibilities was maintaining the country's safety along its borders, which was why Quon was swift to bring it to Emperor Zhao Peng's attention as soon as he received word that a Gnostic Knight had been sighted on the mountain. It was not the first time someone observed one of King Richard's fearsome warriors within Koba's borders, but Mount Abakai in particular was supposed to be off limits.

The debate started after the War ended, when King Richard insisted on maintaining a military presence to deter refugees from entering Angkor. He created a new wing of his army to patrol along the border, and Koba had no choice but to follow the peace terms. However, Zhao Peng successfully negotiated a sensible set of restrictions, arguing that the lands atop the mountain were long regarded as sacred. Instead, he proposed that Richard's patrols maintain their routes only along inland borders. Since there was no practical reason to demand more, King Richard accepted the terms—and many Kobans treated it as one the few freedoms they had left.

So when Quon heard news that a Gnostic Knight had contravened the agreement, he gathered his finest men to search the mountain path and confirm the reports. In truth, he hardly expected more than a routine mission. He figured the knight would give a weak excuse for his presence, and Quon would end up compiling a mundane report detailing the encounter. Zhao Peng would then send his messenger to question the Angkorian diplomat, who would send word to Richard's administration, and the entire bureaucratic process would take weeks to churn out a pointless resolution.

Even so, Quon saw it as his duty to be sure. He was thorough in his work, and many regarded him as stalwart and dependable. He strived for perfection, leaving no room for idle time or recreation. He grew up in a staunchly traditional Koban household, where his pious and conservative father raised him to relinquish entertainment in favor of work and productivity.

Wong Fei Nan had been first to lead the Kenju Warriors, until he lost his life at Dobb's Plain, the battle that ended the War. Quon later assumed his father's role, honoring the skills he had learned since childhood. Only later did he realize that there was more to life than what he could learn from his studies—things only his wife could teach him.

Her name was Katharina. During the War, Quon had rescued her from an Angkorian attack on her village. Like many other displaced villagers, she eventually made her way to the larger settlements. But with Kitezh in turmoil and many nearby provinces already overburdened, she crossed the border into Koba. At the end of her journey, she reached the capital city.

Quon met her by chance, months after the War had ended. She recognized him across a crowd of people and ran to meet him. After offering her thanks, she offered to chat about how her life had changed over the years. He soon realized that she was different from Koban women, who tended to be modest and demure. Refreshingly, Katarina was outgoing and liberal, ready to challenge the status quo with new ideas.

In spite of his conservative upbringing, Quon was intrigued by her company, and found himself quickly and inexorably falling in love. After several months they wed, and he became one of the first Koban figureheads to marry interracially. Unlike the rest of the world, Koba's culture was slow to give up on old bigotries, and marriages were often arranged between families of similar class and stature. However, Quon broke these old molds, and because of his public position, set an example for the entire country.

He thought often of his wife, but he had to put these thoughts aside as he bent over the mountain path to examine a fresh set of tracks. They matched the treaded boots of Angkorian soldiers, and from their count and position, he estimated about a half dozen men. The patterns suggested they had lingered in the area for several days.

An uneasy feeling came over him. The tracks proved that Angkorians were indeed in the area, but their reasons for being there were still a mystery. He assumed the Gnostic Knight was among them, but these warriors tended to be associated with highly strategic missions, and Quon had no idea what drew the knight to Mount Abakai in particular. Other than its history and meaning to the Koban people, it was like any other heap of earth. Why, then, would King Richard risk violating the peace treaties?

Just then, he heard a small clicking sound. He recognized it as the chamber of a Kitezhian firearm sliding into its unlocked position. He spun around to face a group of Angkorian soldiers as they slowly revealed themselves from behind rock outcroppings. He knew they must have been nearby, but he never would have expected them to ready their weapons during peace times. It was a clear declaration of war, and he and his men were the unfortunate victims. He was surrounded on all sides as the soldiers approached, unexpectedly equipped with Kitezhian weapons loaded and aimed at each Kenju.

He boldly faced his aggressors, unwilling to show any fear. He knew the risks of his profession, and was willing to fight and die with honor. He prepared his weapon—a set of razor sharp blades attached to his wrist, hidden under his sleeve. It was known as a tigerpaw, and only the most experienced Kenju could master it. The blades were each attached to the hand's four prominent fingers, and with a particular shake, he could release them from their sheath via an internal mechanism. Fully extended, they could pierce through all but steel plated armor—and if left with no other choice, Quon was prepared to pounce on the nearest enemy soldier. He stood back to back with his brothers, each one facing outward toward their aggressors.

"Unless you plan to use your weapons, I demand you lower them!" Quon shouted. "Violence will lead to dire consequences, but there is still time to deescalate. You have my word that if you leave peacefully, we can all avoid an act of war."

"It won't lead to war, if no one's alive to speak of it," a voice corrected from behind another boulder.

A Gnostic Knight emerged, and Quon's heart sank. He had hoped to face the lower-ranked soldiers by themselves. He and his men would easily have an advantage against common grunts—even with their stolen Kitezhian weapons. But Gnostic Knights … those were far more fearsome.

The knight strutted over confidently. "I will ask you some questions. If you answer them quickly and accurately, I promise to make your deaths as painless as possible."

Quon gazed into the Gnostic's helm, eye to soulless eye socket. He waited for his opportunity to strike.

"Who besides you knows we're here?" the knight demanded.

Quon held his wrists ready to release his tigerpaw. If he could take down the knight, perhaps his men would still have a chance. He stared down the Angkorian embodiment of Death without flinching.

"Answer me!" the Gnostic shouted.

Quon pressed his lips together while forcing his breath to be steady. He would not be intimidated!

The knight's face was hidden, but Quon could tell from the coldness of his voice that he was seething. "Very well … _kill them_."

The Angkorian soldiers raised their firearms, when a disembodied voice spoke out.

"Lower your weapons!"

Quon looked from side to side, but saw nothing. Then, from behind a veil of magic, a second Gnostic Knight stepped into the clearing. The mystery man had his horned helmet removed. Quon did not recognize him, but the Angkorians certainly did.

The first knight broke into hearty laughter. "Bram Morrison," he bellowed. "You do turn up in the strangest places. I figured the mere destruction of Ur would not be enough to stop you." He removed his own helm, presumably to speak with the other knight more personally.

The one named Bram seemed to share a bit of history with the first man. "It's strange to see you, too, Victor. It's too bad we couldn't have met under better circumstances, but I'm afraid I can't allow you to harm these men."

Victor's smile quickly dissolved, and he bared his teeth. "So, it's true! You _are_ working with the enemy!"

Bram held his ground. "The War's over, Victor! The Koban people have been peaceful neighbors, yet you would attack them without cause? Why did Richard send you here? Does it have to do with the sunstones?"

"The king tells us what he wills," Victor returned crossly. "Unlike you, _I_ possess the honor to obey. You're nothing but a traitorous dog!"

Quon turned his attention from one knight to the other, wondering why this new knight was willing to risk his life to defend foreigners. He had only encountered a couple of Gnostics during the War, and their reputation for brutality was well earned. Quon was lucky enough to escape a few times with his life—though, sadly, his father had not.

Quon shuddered as he thought about his father's demise at Dobb's Plain. Quon was on the southern side of the continent when Angkor gathered their forces for a final push through the Koban countryside, and he made every effort to ride north to get there. Unfortunately, he never made it in time. Armies from Angkor, Koba, and Kitezh clashed at once in the middle of Dobb's Plain—a battle that lasted over the course of a day.

Quon was not there to witness his father's death firsthand, but he had heard the rumors. Wong Fei had faced off against two Gnostics at the same time—something Quon would not have wished against his worst enemy. Using their dark enchanted swords, the knights cut up his father's body into pieces, then placed it on display for the Koban forces to see. Quon's own body could not help but shake as he was trapped behind the muzzle of a firearm, now eerily facing off against two Gnostic Knights. He could only pray to Gaia that the one named Bram was in fact willing to provide him aid.

"Tell your men to lower their weapons," Bram insisted to Victor. "We need to talk this through. You'll realize soon enough that we're not enemies."

Victor put his hand on his sword. "I answer to only one man—you know that! If you want a chance to tell your story, then return with me to Angkor and answer for your crimes. Besides, you have no chance. Even if you were willing to duel with me, I still have more than enough men to defeat these _Koban rats_."

Quon gritted his teeth at the insult, but he kept his cool. He had to wait and see how things played out. To his surprise, Bram pressed forward confidently.

"You're sure about that, Victor?" He gave a hand signal, and eight Kitezhian soldiers appeared out of thin air. Each of them stood behind an Angkorian, swords hovering a finger's breadth from the soldiers' throats. Bram drew his own blade, holding it within striking distance of Victor's exposed neck.

Quon was awestruck. It was already unusual to see a Gnostic Knight willing to stand against his own kind, but far stranger to see him allied with foreign soldiers!

Victor spat in Bram's direction. "Leading Kitezhian curs, now? You're both a traitor _and_ a disgrace, Morrison!"

Bram put his blade aside. "Enough! No one needs to die to settle our differences. King Richard is being manipulated by insidious forces, and his scheme will soon put all of Angkor in danger. I know your honor is to your country and its people first, Victor—not just to Cromwell. Hear me out, at least!"

Victor looked torn. He held back his retort, looking genuinely impacted by Bram's words. He was about to speak, when something strange and horrid came over him. Quon watched as a blue film covered the knight's eyes. Victor's muscles went limp, and he collapsed onto the ground in a heap of Gnostic armor. Then, just as horrifying, he sprung back up, as if pulled by puppet strings.

Bram's eyes went wide, and he took a couple of steps back. "Victor, what's happened?"

The body of Victor laughed maniacally with a voice that was not his own. "Fool! You truly think you can stand against the Ahrimen? The powers you hope to face are beyond your comprehension!"

The words meant nothing to Quon, but he was certain that forbidden magic was involved. He watched the facsimile of the knight remove an object from his waist bag. It was a small metal box with runes along the sides.

Bram already looked surprised and confused by Victor's transformation, but his eyes were full of fear as soon as he saw the box. "Where did you get that?" he demanded. The Kitezhian soldiers shifted on their feet, looking nervous.

"Oh, this?" Victor's body taunted. "It's a mere sample of the Ahrimen's power … and woe be to those subject to its wrath."

"Put it down!" Bram growled, raising his sword once more. "Place it on the rock over there, and back away slowly. Any sudden movements, I'll run you through!"

Victor's body continued to laugh as it followed Bram's command, but as it backed away, it followed with an ominous remark. "I would have thought you'd already be familiar with these devices, having used one once yourself. They have a mind of their own, and require no activation from me …."

Quon turned his attention to the box. It opened all by itself, emanating a deep and unnatural carnelian light that bathed the surrounding mountainside. It was followed by an ear-piercing high-pitched shriek. Quon's hands went immediately to his ears, an Angkorian soldier fired a shot, and pandemonium exploded.

Quon joined his Kenju, hoping to catch the Angkorians off guard. Some of them shot their firearms, but had no time to reload. They were slow to discard their weapons and reach for their swords, giving the Kenju a chance to overwhelm them. In mere moments, several of Quon's men and some of the Kitezhians were in crumpled heaps along the ground. Fortunately, the Angkorian soldiers were dead.

Quon's emotions shifted from fear to anger as he looked at the senseless loss of life. It was all the Gnostic's fault! Controlled by magic or not, Victor would not escape his vengeance for his fallen comrades.

He ran towards the knight, who was locked in battle with Bram. Quon was ready to jump into the fray, when he came face to face with a hideous gray-skinned monster. Its eyes were glowing embers, and flames spewed from its nose and mouth. It was so startling and unexpected that he skidded to a halt along the ground.

Without thinking, he rolled to the side, just in time to dodge a swipe from the beast's arm. With the agility of a wildcat, he pounced back, twisting his wrist in time to drive his tigerpaw into the creature's chest. He was ready to wrench his blades free when its body turned to ash and scattered in the wind. He looked around, trying to make sense out of what had happened.

Nearby, Bram struck a decisive blow, knocking Victor's blade from his hands. The possessed knight spun around, only to face another gray-skinned creature. The monster swiped its claw across the Gnostic's face, throwing off his helm and leaving him bloodied and injured on the ground. Bram was quick to respond, driving his dark blade deep into the creature's side. Once again, its body turned to ash as it crumbled to the ground in pieces.

Unwilling to be caught off guard again, Quon threw his entire body into Bram, knocking him off his feet. The two warriors rolled along the ground until Quon landed on top, aiming his tigerpaw at the man's face.

"Who are you?" Quon demanded, ready to find out once and for all what was going on. "What do you know about the box and these creatures? Answer me!"

"I'm on your side!" Bram yelled back. "There's no time to explain. Either you trust me, or we'll both fall victim to the spawn from the box. They won't wait for you to decide!"

There was something in the knight's voice that sounded urgent and genuine. Quon trusted his instincts and withdrew his weapon. He grasped Bram's gauntleted hand and helped him to his feet. "What in Gaia's name are those things?"

"There will be time for that later," Bram answered. "Right now, we have to shut down that box!"

A female voice called out to Bram's side, and a young woman materialized out of nowhere. She was dressed in heavy Kitezhian furs, but looked Angkorian. Quon was humbled by her beauty, which showed through her soiled and hardened face.

"Bram, are you hurt?" she asked. Upon seeing Quon, she faced him threateningly. He backed up a few steps as soon as he heard her chanting in the language of magic.

Bram grabbed ahold of her arm, just in time to stop her spell. "Rosa, it's all right! He won't hurt us. Where's Uriana? Is she still safe with King Brandt?"

The young woman named Rosa nodded, but Quon was faced with another shocking revelation. "King Brandt is here?" he exclaimed, his head spinning as he tried to make sense out of the chaos. "What is going on here?"

Rather than answering, Bram faced the young woman. "Rosa, do you know how we can close the box?"

Bram pointed to the rock where the box still glowed an ugly scarlet. A lethargic geyser of black sludge oozed from the inside, slowly forming into the gray-skinned creatures as it touched the ground. The Kitezhians and Kenju were all engaged in fighting the hideously horned demons, which dripped smoldering embers from their bodies, igniting everything in their vicinity.

Thick black smoke billowed into the air, creating a suffocating film that permeated the clearing. And all the while, the black sludge produced unendingly, creating an overwhelming number of creatures. Quon could not believe his eyes. He was paralyzed as he tried to figure out which of the threats to deal with first.

While he was still deciding, Bram lunged forward with his sword, killing one of the creatures just as it materialized. He jumped back, narrowly avoiding a hot jet of flame that belched from the box's interior.

He cursed. "Now it's defending itself! Rosa, do you have any ideas?"

"I don't know," she admitted, looking frantic. "I've never seen magic like this. Watch out!"

She cast a defensive spell, just in time to deflect another ball of fire from the box. The recoil knocked her to the side, but Bram was quick to catch her in his arms.

"Are you all right?" he asked as he helped her to her feet.

She tried to answer, but started choking as thick layers of smoke billowed all around them.

Quon coughed a few times when something else caught his attention. "Look, over there!" he pointed with a razor sharp knife from his tigerpaw. There was a child at the edge of the clearing, slowly making her way through the chaos.

Bram and Rosa both bolted in her direction. "Dear Goddess, Yuri!" Rosa screamed, while also choking on the thick fumes. Quon put a sleeve to his mouth, but it was not enough to stop the ash from coating the insides of his lungs.

He sank to his knees as the child pressed onward, undeterred by the outpour of noxious gasses. She raised her arms as she walked, chanting in what appeared to be the language of magic. The gray-skinned creatures tried to claw at her, but an invisible barrier kept them at bay. Meanwhile, the wind picked up, offering a sweet relief from the toxins.

Rosa hacked out a few words of warning. "She's … casting … a spell! Take cover!"

Quon barely heard her voice over the roaring gale. He dove behind a nearby boulder, trusting that his well-being depended on following her advice. He had just barely grasped the side of the rock when a gale force wind ripped through the clearing. The Kitezhians and Kenju tried to take cover, tripping over themselves as the force of the wind took them off their feet.

By now, the spawn surrounded the child from all sides, their sinful faces filled with scorn as they vainly tried to prevail against the child's wizardry. Her skin turned a golden hue, gaining in strength until she glowed like the sun—a celestial beacon eradicating the evil magic in pure light.

"I've never sensed such power," Rosa screamed, her voice almost muffled over the deafening whirlwind. Her hands clutched the rock tightly. "It's … beautiful …."

The child continued to weave her arms and legs in a graceful dance, circling about, sending projectiles of air that flung the spawn into the air, slowly sucking them into a whirling maelstrom. The flames around the nearby brush were all doused, and fragments of soot and char coalesced into a stream of black ooze. It gathered and circled around the clearing, picking up every bit and piece that did not have an iron grip on something. Time seemed to spin in reverse, as all evidence of the demons' onslaught was sent directly back to the box. When the last bit returned inside, the wind died down and the box closed. The child stepped forward and picked it up with a satisfied look.

"It won't open anymore," she stated in a tiny voice.

Bram and Rosa ran to her, and Bram scooped her up in his arms. He hugged her tightly. "Yuri, thank Gaia you're safe!"

Quon was relieved beyond words. It felt like a dream, almost as if he had imagined it all in a crazed vision that only he had experienced—but he could tell by the blank stares and nonplussed expressions from the rest of the crowd that they too had witnessed it. All eyes were on Bram and the miracle child. The knight seemed at a loss for words.

Just then, a teenage boy came forward. Quon had not yet seen him on the battlefield, but the young man carried an aura that drew people's attention as he projected in a loud voice.

"My fellow Kobans and Kitezhians, I am Józef Brandt, son of the late king, Henrich Brandt."

His words drew gasps from the crowd. Quon took in a deep breath as he finally recognized the boy-prince of Kitezh. He had heard rumors that Rungholt had been attacked, but the boy's words finally confirmed it.

The neophyte king continued. "Some of you might not yet have heard of Rungholt's demise, but I have come today bearing witness to the deaths of my kinsmen. We have all felt hardships before, but there is no denying that another struggle is at hand. Angkor seeks the sunstones of legend, and already has two in their possession. These artifacts hold ancient powers within them—demons known through stories as the Ahrimen."

Murmurs erupted among the Kenju, discussing whether to believe the outlandish claims. Quon was their leader, so he felt the need to step in and speak for them. He too projected his voice for all to hear.

"The heir of Kitezh speaks!" he asserted, causing his men to instantly fall in line. He directed his words toward the boy-king. "I am Quon Nan, Kenju Master of Koba. Clearly, we have all witnessed incredible powers today, and we owe you our lives. However, it may be difficult for some of us to believe the same demons we know from children's tales have chosen to align themselves with the greatest empire the world has ever known. It is clear that King Richard has set his ambitions on Koba, but what would you have us do? Fight against an unbeatable foe?"

The heir shook his head. "I have not come here as a harbinger of fear, Noble Warrior, but rather as a herald of hope. We are gathering allies, and have traveled here to help the Koban people face our common enemy."

He gestured to the Gnostic Knight, the white wizard, and the magical child who stood at his side. "These friends of Kitezh have proven that help can come from outside our two nations, and they deserve our gratitude and respect. I believe we can find more, and together we can stop this menace before it overtakes us."

Quon looked around, and saw that the boy's words had found support among his Kenju Warriors. He stepped forward to confirm his support.

"Your speech inspires us, King Brandt, and we welcome your assistance. While I do not speak for our emperor, let me at least say that you have my ear. I am eager to hear your full tale, and vow to do my part to unite with your cause. But before we go on, I would like to seek some white wizardry for my injured men."

King Brandt smiled and motioned to his white wizards to provide assistance. It was too late for two of the Kenju, who had perished in the attack, but many others had healable wounds. As for the Angkorian soldiers, they were all dead—save for one.

The young woman Rosa approached the Gnostic Knight named Victor, who still lay crumpled on the ground. He stirred, and she called out to Bram. He and Quon both rushed to her side.

"Hold back," Bram warned. "Don't assume for a moment that he can't gather the strength to break your neck."

Rosa backed away and allowed Bram to approach. The knight bent over and flipped his old colleague onto his side, brushing away the dirt clogging the knight's nose and mouth.

Victor struggled to speak. "Abraham … forgive me …."

"What in the Burning Pits happened?" Bram asked him. "I saw the magic that came over you. You were being controlled by the Ahrimen, weren't you?"

Victor coughed out specks of blood. "The blue smoke … forced me … to obey."

"What blue smoke? Tell me what happened," Bram begged.

Rosa tried to squeeze in. "Step aside so I can heal him."

Bram gave her room, but as soon as he moved, the knight convulsed. The echo of clattering Gnostic armor resonated between the craggy rocks of the clearing.

Bram grabbed the knight, trying to hold him still. "Victor, tell me why you're here! What did Richard ask of you?"

Victor twitched violently, his jaw firmly clenched. Rosa's hands made the movements of a healing spell, but even Quon knew it was futile. Victor's eyes quivered through what must have been excruciating pain. His lips formed shaky syllables, and a final breath gave life to a single word.

"Moon … stone." With that, the Gnostic was dead.

Bram backed up slowly, his face white. He faced Rosa. "What happened?"

"I don't understand," she answered. "It was like … something just wrenched the life right out of him!"

Bram lowered his head. "He mentioned the word moonstone. Does that mean anything to you?"

Rosa shook her head. "No, but you should know that I sensed a magical signature that matched the magical toxin. The same one that infected me!"

Bram's eyes went wide. "Are you sure?"

Rosa nodded and took a deep breath. "I can't say for sure, but I shudder to think what might have happened to me if you hadn't found the cure. Only one thing's clear. This man had something to say, and whatever it was, we weren't supposed to hear it."

Bram clenched his hand into a fist, clearly brewing with anger and frustration. "There's no doubt, anymore. _Virgil_ has to be responsible!" He uttered the man's name like a curse.

Rosa sighed. "You're probably right, but what do we do now?"

The knight paused before speaking, but his words were decisive. "We have to tell them the whole story." Rosa looked at Bram curiously, so he reiterated. "It's time to tell King Brandt and the Kenju Warriors _everything_."

Quon took a step back. He had a feeling that everything he knew or believed in his life was about to change.


	59. Chapter 5: Part VII

**.**

* * *

**Part VII**

_Night of Denuo, Tenth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Richard Cromwell was the most powerful man in the world, and felt deserving of the rewards he had coming to him. However, all was not going according to plan. He should have spent his evening receiving exaltations from his court, but instead he anxiously awaited a member of his Gnostic Knighthood, a man by the name of Samuel Cortez. Angkor had only thirteen of these elite warriors—twelve when discounting the defector, Abraham Morrison. Eleven scoured the continent on a mission that only Richard knew about, but the final knight he kept close by, in case of emergencies. This _was _such an emergency.

The issue involved the Kitezhian uprising in their capital of Rungholt. Somehow, they had managed to overthrow his occupation, in spite of the heavy presence he had left there. The matter required a prompt response, but his military had been spread too thin, occupying too many places. He no longer had the resources on hand to assemble an effective assault.

Most of the blame fell on the shoulders of his First Advisor, Virgil Garvey, who had been given the simple responsibility of properly managing the kingdom's resources. It had taken Richard years to amass the mightiest of armies on Gaia, but in a few short weeks, Virgil had cast his soldiers to all corners of the globe. It should have been a simple task to obtain the remaining sunstones; yet, after weeks of planning, all Richard had was a boondoggle requiring more units than he could spare.

In his count of forces, he included all the mercenaries hired to run the camps along the countryside—which also served as a disposal site for the arrested Kitezhian prisoners. Virgil had set up these facilities as part of an elaborate hoax to rouse the nation's own xenophobic tendencies. By pointing the finger at Kitezh and galvanizing fears of unexpected attacks, Virgil hoped resurrect an appetite for war among the Angkorian people. He argued that without a class of people to blame, the citizens might instead confront the government itself. He warned of riots, as well as increasingly bold inquiries from nations on the Southern Continent. The last thing Richard needed was for Malden or Ek' Balam to side with his enemies.

Of course, it was hard to argue that the plan was unsuccessful. Richard was able to justify his attack on Rungholt, and all the while his countrymen praised him for decisive action. To his neighboring nations, his actions seemed rash but understandable.

The only problem was that he had underestimated the requirements. With so much of his remaining forces preparing for an attack on Koba, he had no more men left to respond to the crisis at Rungholt. He began to suspect that Virgil could no longer be trusted with his responsibilities. Unfortunately, the cunning man still held more secrets about the sunstones. He was smart enough to divulge them only a bit at a time, making him valuable to keep around.

Just recently, Virgil had revealed yet another of the sunstones' mysteries. As he explained it, their powers came from the immortal creatures residing inside of them—the Ahrimen. In order to harness their powers and force them into servitude, he had to find the counterpart to each of the sunstones. Virgil called these _moonstones_, and they were vital to obtaining absolute control. Without them, the Ahrimen would eventually turn on their masters—but with the moonstones, the sunstones would grant Richard unlimited powers!

Of course, the problem lay in finding these artifacts. Virgil claimed the moonstones had been dispersed following the Omega War, nearly a thousand years ago. In order to find them, special instruments were needed. To Virgil's credit, he had secretly built such devices into the Zounds airship design—the reason why its timely completion was so important.

Unfortunately, it required the cooperation of the ship's creator, whom Virgil had foolishly locked in the dungeon. Richard tried to convince the Grand Craftsman to see reason, even promising him a share in the sunstones' power—but the man refused! There was no telling how much of a delay it would cause, and Richard sensed desperation clawing at the door. He had no choice but to rely on Virgil's craftiness to persuade Cedric Curtis to capitulate.

Richard yearned for the time when the devilish man would no longer be useful. Virgil did not have the capacity to advise the world's most powerful ruler, and hence had no place in Angkor's future. But he had his fingers stuck so deeply in the country's daily governance that it would be difficult to remove him once the dependence ended. Richard _had _to find a way to reassert control, which was the impetus for a plan he developed to find the moonstones for himself.

Over the last few days, he sent all his available Gnostics and Templars across the continent in search of these relics. He suspected any areas related to religious myths and legends—such as the forests north of Kish, or Mount Abakai in Koba. He wondered if Virgil was concurrently conducting similar searches in the hope of double-crossing his king.

Richard grinned, for he had readied himself for this potentiality. He had commanded Samuel Cortez to be his covert spy, to gain Virgil's trust and determine his secrets. The Gnostic Knight had recently joined Richard's service, but in the year since his induction, he had more than proven his worth. Better yet, he carried out his duties without question. Richard had once hoped to have Abraham Morrison serve in this position, but unfortunately, it was not meant to be.

Bram had once been among Richard's best knights, not to mention an old friend. However, Virgil had argued that the best way to mold a tool was with fire. He had proposed manipulating Bram to follow their cause by making him responsible for the annihilation of the Conjurion tribe—a threat that needed removal, anyway. Richard would have rather bolstered Bram's loyalty by offering him a drink from the font of the sunstone. One breath from the mighty Abaddon, and Bram would have experienced the glorious sensation of divine might. Richard should have used his better judgment; he would then have had another capable Gnostic seeking his treasure.

As for Abaddon's power of coercion, it was one of Richard's most powerful tools. Once a man inhaled the blue smoke, he could not resist. It was superior to_ compulsion_ magic, because it gave the Ahriman full, albeit temporary, control over a man's body. Not to mention Richard's own experience of assuming Abaddon's form—and controlling his powers—was just as exquisite. To touch the divine this way ….

Richard yearned to take one more sip of its power, and would have in heartbeat were it not for the strict limits he had to set for himself. Abaddon's power was an addiction—one that quickly formed a dependence on anyone who used the sunstone regularly. Drawing too much or too often gave the Ahriman power over that individual. If not metered carefully, Richard would lose command of his own body to Abaddon.

It was a constant battle, for the power tasted so sweet. It beckoned him to drink more each day, giving him the focus he needed to keep his grand plans from going awry. He would lay awake at nights, eager for the sun to rise, so he could bask again in the stone's glory. If only he had a moonstone on hand, he could draw upon Abaddon's power any time he wanted. With his moonstone and sunstone together, his power would be limitless!

Anxiously wringing his hands, Richard paced the floor, waiting for Samuel to arrive. He wiped his brow with his right hand, leaving his fingers wet with perspiration. Hastily, he wiped them against his robes, trying to stop his hands from shaking. Damn that Gnostic! Where was he?

As if responding to his thoughts, a Templar entered the room. "Sir Cortez has arrived, Your Majesty."

"Send him in, then!" Richard snapped. He took in and let out a deep breath, relieved that the knight had finally appeared, but also a bit conscious about his own sullen and sweaty face. By necessity, he pushed his concerns aside. It hardly mattered now, and he did not want to waste a moment longer worrying about it. The Templar bowed, and in strode a tall man adorned in Gnostic armor.

Richard lashed out. "Samuel, where have you been? I summoned you more than an hour ago!"

"My apologies, Sire," the knight answered in a deep yet soothing voice. "I was working outside the city when the messenger arrived, and traveled here as soon as I received your summons."

Richard knew that Samuel was an expert in black magic, with strength equal to his mastery of combat. He knew the complex spell of transporting between locations instantaneously. That was why Richard had expected him sooner, but it seemed the delay was with the messenger.

"I'll get to the point," Richard replied succinctly. "Rungholt is back in the hands of the Kitezhians. You were right about them hiding underground, but apparently we hadn't left enough men to hold the city. They've managed to capture some of our soldiers as well as a few airships. It won't be long before they attempt a counter-attack. I need you to mobilize the remaining units to quell this rebellion _permanently_."

Samuel stood tall and unyielding, his emotions hidden behind his horned Gnostic helm. Richard scowled, growing impatient with Samuel's hesitation.

"Sire, all remaining forces prepare for the attack on Koba," the knight explained. "There's no better time than now to obtain the Sagittarius Stone."

"No, I won't risk it!" Richard sputtered, pounding one shaky fist into another cold and clammy hand. "If Kitezh spreads word of what we've done, our plans will be in ruin. We must redirect the attack at once!"

Samuel took another step forward. His stature was so commanding that Richard—King of Angkor—felt himself taking a step back.

"If I may, my Lord, I would offer you an alternate viewpoint. Kitezh will first aim to align with their former ally before attempting to attack us. If we retarget Kitezh, then the window for a surprise attack on Koba closes, and they will have a chance to build their defenses. So let us take Koba first, and if it pleases you, allow me to lead this mission personally. I'll obtain Koba's sunstone, and then we'll have plenty of time to quell the Kitezhian rebellion."

"Did you not hear me?" Richard argued. "Our real risk comes from Kitezh exposing our lies! Our plans are fragile enough as it is, and Kitezh can shatter them by revealing what we've done. The entire world would ally against us!"

"Yes," Samuel agreed, "but by then, Your Majesty shall have Koba's sunstone in his possession. With three in hand, even our limited remaining armies will be unstoppable."

Richard returned to pacing. The Gnostic's words were compelling, but in this game of chess, the wrong move would put him in check—perhaps this time, with no moves remaining. He could not afford any more mistakes. Besides, if Kitezh were foolish enough to mount an attack on his capital, he could use the Pisces Stone to destroy them. Abaddon promised him the power to command his enemies to kneel before him, and he relished that idea. He almost dared them to attack!

Either way, it would take several days to prepare his forces, which meant he had to choose the target now. Address Rungholt, and the window for the third sunstone closes. Attack Koba, and he must roll the dice that the remaining sunstones are in his possession before his plans unravel.

"Very well—pursue the Koban sunstone," he finally decided. "And I want _you _to lead the mission personally."

"Yes, Your Majesty" Samuel bowed.

"Now leave me," Richard ordered with a wave of his hand.

Samuel spoke a few words, and his body disappeared into thin air.


	60. Chapter 5: Part VIII

**.**

* * *

**Part VIII**

_Afternoon of Tertius, Eleventh Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

With Mount Abakai behind them, Bram and his friends followed the Kenju Master of Koba and his Kenju Warriors to the capital city of Tiahuanaco. To hasten their travel, Quon showed everyone how to gain the consent of wild viscars to use as mounts. Off the main path were groves containing a certain root vegetable—their favorite food.

Quon revealed how to recognize the plant's leaf, dig them up, and expose the edible parts. After collecting enough to coax the beasts out of hiding—and a bit of patience—the gentle creatures slowly emerged. Patience while presenting the offering was vital in forming a bond of trust. Once the wild creatures felt comfortable, they made mounts that were just as good as the domesticated variety.

Once aboard the lizard-like creatures, Quon directed the party along the East Road, which ran straight through the countryside to the capital. After the far more treacherous trek through the mountains, the rest of the trip was a relatively uneventful. By late morning, Bram proposed they stop at a small village near the banks of the River Liao. It was more for Uriana's benefit than for anyone else. The group had already gone through their meager provisions while on the mountain, and Bram's young companion had started to complain of hunger pangs. Once food had been purchased and Uriana fed, Bram and Rosa had a chance to speak in private.

"That was very considerate of you," she praised. The child laid peacefully on the ground near Rosa's viscar, her head resting atop the creature's green scaly skin.

Bram smiled with a modest shrug. "Any man would have done the same."

"Not a soldier," she insisted, her eyes like gentle pools, warm and calming. "Not even the man I knew several weeks ago. Even with so much urgency to reach the capital, you've still given priority to Uriana's needs. I can't help but think you've changed, Bram."

His smile crept wider, and he was unable to hide his affection any longer. "I suppose I've grown a bit fond of her."

"I don't blame you," she returned, smiling. But her uplifting mood did not last. Slowly, the smile melted away as Rosa's gaze met the ground. She sighed bitterly. "I wish things weren't so complicated, but there's no running away from what we've committed to … and because of that, Yuri's in constant danger, just by being near us."

Bram reached for Rosa's hand and held it tightly. "Rosie … I made a promise to keep her safe, and I'll do everything I can to follow through with that. I know she can't follow us where we're going, but I swear I'll think of something before any danger comes to her."

Rosa nodded, using her delicate fingers to wipe away the smallest of droplets from around her eyes. "I know we've discussed this before … but given all we've been through, would you mind if I ask you a familiar question?"

"Of course," Bram asserted, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger and moving it to meet his gaze. "We've had quarrels before, Rosie, but they're behind us. Please … ask me anything."

She stayed silent for a moment, perhaps to gather her thoughts or her courage. "Do you ever … see us with a child, Bram?"

The question took him by surprise. As a Knight, he went out of his way to avoid the topic. Gnostics were not known to raise children, but things were different now. He paused for a moment, considering how he might answer. He wanted to search his feelings, if for nothing else, at least to give Rosa a satisfying answer.

"I'm willing to try," he said, "once this is all over. But right now, we must do what's best for Uriana. Think about it, Rosie. The further we go, things will only get worse. At some point, we'll need to confront our enemy. You wouldn't want Yuri around when that happens, would you?"

The wetness returned to Rosa's eyes, but she did not bother to wipe it away. She merely gazed outward, her face listless. Bram took her in his arms and embraced her, holding her tight, letting her head rest against his cold dark steel. He wanted to cast the armor aside—just for a moment—to feel her smooth skin against his, the beating of her heart, the heat of her breath.

Instead, he caught sight of Józef and Quon, standing nearby. As much as he wanted to hold onto Rosa indefinitely, he knew there were many important things to discuss with his other colleagues. She seemed to think so, too, as she slowly let go of his torso and stood at his side.

"I hope we are not interrupting anything," Józef said politely. "I just wanted to check on Uriana. How is she?"

"Thanks for your concern, Józef," Bram responded stoically, though his heart still ached for Rosa's touch. "She's been fed, and I think the entire group has benefited from the break. The mountain was hard on all of us."

The young heir nodded, his eyes lined with creases—gifts from his mounting weariness.

Quon stepped forward. "King Brandt and I have been discussing the sunstones, and we would like to ask Rosa a few more questions."

He turned to the white wizardress. "You mentioned earlier that the magic of the sunstones comes from the demons inside—the Ahrimen. And when a person draws from their magic, they are slowly giving these creatures the power to escape."

Rosa nodded. "Yes, Master Nan. The famous historian, Maurice Vance, conducted experiments on the sunstone from Vineta, and he was the first we know of to test this theory."

Quon took in a shaky breath. "But these Ahrimen … they are the same creatures mentioned in the children's tales about the Omega War, correct? I only vaguely remember these stories, since my father did not believe in filling a child's head with nonsense."

Józef chuckled. "Little did he know that these fairytales might someday help us to understand our enemy."

Quon frowned and cleared his throat. "That is the nature of my question. If we are to trust old legends, how much should we take literally? Can folklore truly be trusted as a source of information?"

Rosa sighed, running her fingers nervously through her hair. "You bring up a good point, Master Nan. As a scholar, I've learned that information must be referenced and supported by reputable sources before it is taken at face value. I read many books from the Archives before finding Vance's journals, but most of them contradicted one another. That's to be expected when stories are passed down by word of mouth over so many generations."

"Then what are the facts?" Józef asked. "My father used to tell me the stories when I was a boy, but how would I know which parts to believe?"

"Well," Rosa began, "let's start with the timeframe, for example. Supposedly, the Omega War happened a thousand years ago, but time scales as large as these are often colloquialisms for events predating accurate records—the exception, of course, being timing on a celestial scale. When it comes to the stars and planets, we should take these timeframes literally."

Józef huffed. "So, we don't even know if the timeframe is reliable?"

Rosa shook her head. "I'm sorry to say, but we must keep an open mind to the facts, and expect to discover many surprises as we move forward."

"What do we know for sure, Rosa?" Bram broke in.

Her expression seemed to brighten. "A bit … for example, the stories all agree that there were four Ahrimen. They were called Abaddon, Libicocco, Belial, and the mightiest of them was Lord Zagan. They called forth an army of creatures from underground, whose descriptions match the spawn from the enchanted box. We've witnessed these for ourselves, so we know this part must be true. The stories claim these creatures brought down entire kingdoms, which fell one after the other. Mankind only succeeded in fighting back when all the remaining nations of the planet united in a singular force."

"But how did mankind defeat the Ahrimen and imprison them?" Quon asked. "You said that using the sunstones may give the Ahrimen power to escape. What if Angkor inadvertently releases these demons from their prisons? If we must fight them, is there any credible information for how to do it?"

Rosa lowered her head. "Unfortunately, if records exist, I've yet to find them."

"Wait," Józef interjected. "We may not have to defeat the Ahrimen. We just need to return the sunstones to their rightful places before Angkor releases them."

"But if they are released?" Quon pressed. "What then?"

The four paused in the wake of the Kenju Master's question, feeling the heavy weight of uncertainty drag down their spirits.

"Wait—it's so simple!" Józef exclaimed. "Rosa discovered the Ahrimen through Vance's journals. If the answers lie anywhere, it's back at the Archives with the rest of those texts."

"Whoa, let us not jump from the kettle to the coals," Quon warned. "We must protect the remaining sunstones first."

"I agree," Bram concurred. "Angkor might attack Koba at any moment. Our first objective should be to prevent Angkor from obtaining any more sunstones."

Quon nodded vigorously.

"At the same time," Bram conceded, "Józef correctly points out that we must be equipped with the right knowledge. Angkor's Archives is one of the few places in Gaia where we can find the answers."

"But how would you propose we do that?" Quon insisted. "Angkor's capital is the most fortified city in the world—and now they have the power of the sunstones. I do not see a way to infiltrate the city, let alone the Archives."

"Leave that to Rosa and me," Bram asserted. "No one knows the capital better than we do. After we reach Tiahuanaco and warn Emperor Zhao, we'll return to Angkor in secret, and see if we can learn any new information."

"I am not so sure, Bram," Józef pondered. "Perhaps it is not such a good idea. You and Rosa are the best hope we have to learn about our enemy. If you are captured, what then?"

Bram considered both sides. He wanted to provide support for Koba and Kitezh, but he also knew it was prudent to get more information about the Ahrimen.

"I understand your hesitance, Józef, but the point remains that our biggest danger would be the Ahrimen escaping their prisons. Even if we successfully protect Koba's sunstone, Angkor still has two others, and they will continue to use them until we put a stop to it. If the answers lie inside of Angkor, Rosa and I will have a better chance of sneaking in than any army on Gaia trying to enter through the front gates. Trust me with this."

Józef looked back at Bram with raised brows. "So be it. I shall put my faith in you, but you should get Emperor Zhao's support, too."

"I can help," Quon offered. "The emperor trusts my judgment. While I cannot promise anything, I will speak with him about your plan, and let him know that I have pledged my full support."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Bram said to Józef. "And you, too, Master Nan," he nodded to Quon. "This crisis is larger than either of us can handle by ourselves. We'll need to work together, and have the full support of Kitezh and Koba behind us."

"Then let us not waste any more time," Quon suggested. "We have a long road ahead, and we should continue our march forward."

Everyone agreed. After gathering the others, they set off once more.


	61. Chapter 5: Part IX

**.**

* * *

**Part IX**

_Afternoon of Tertius, Eleventh Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Cedric awoke to find that he no longer dwelt in darkness. A candle stood in the corner of his cell, fat with slopes of wax running down the sides. A damp chill permeated the air, tempting him to grasp his body for warmth. His icy fingers ached as he clenched them into fists, but he needed to get the blood flowing.

His neck and shoulders were sore, too, likely from a crooked night's sleep. He sat up with arms fully extended, stretching them up and behind his back. He listened as vertebrae popped into place. Reaching for the back of his neck, he worked out the cramps with his fingertips.

He took a deep breath, and instinctively brought his hand to his nose. A pungent and unexpected odor wafted from an unknown location. He placed his feet upon the cold and clammy stone floor, hunting the scent. He tried to stand, but dehydration had left him lightheaded. Since his imprisonment, he had taken very little food or drink, and he yearned to quench his thirst.

He noticed a tray on the floor beside the candle with a bowl and cup on top. He blinked several times to adjust to the flame's tiny light. It seemed like the contents of the bowl were moving. Despite his rising nausea, he bravely crawled forward to take a closer look. Adjusting the candlelight, he saw dozens of tiny maggots and weevils thriving in what appeared to be a mixture of watered oats. It was, evidently, the source of the stench. Retching several times, he pushed the tray to the corner. Had his stomach not been empty, he would have vomited.

How long had he slept?

He peered into the cup and saw a clear liquid. Some silt had collected at the bottom, but he saw nothing suspicious. He tasted a small sip, and after confirming it was water, joyfully gulped its contents while avoiding the sediment. He returned to his cot, a stained and musty mattress, recalling his conversation with Richard.

His former king had offered a pardon in exchange for finishing the Zounds airship, but Cedric had boldly refused. After having watched his liege transform into a horrific abomination, and listening to him admit to horrific war crimes against the Kitezhian people, Cedric decided once and for all to forsake his lifelong loyalties.

Zounds was his child, and he could never let something so dear be taken by the enemy. Richard could try to replace him if he wanted, but any other engineer would take months to understand his abstruse techniques and optimizations. They would never get the contraption off the ground! At least in this way, Cedric felt that some good could be done.

Richard was not the same man. It might have been the sunstone's influence, or maybe just his ambitious lust for power. The actual reason did not matter, as long as Cedric was locked up hundreds of spans under the city—without anyone who knew or cared about his disappearance. He looked back at the bowl of squirming oats, wondering if the guards had been so cruel as to put the worms and bugs in there, or if they had gathered over the hours or days while he slept.

Just then, he heard a massive door opening. Someone entered the dungeon, off in the distance, and his body went numb. He no longer feared his executioner. He was better off dead than to use his talents against humanity!

A man entered, carrying a lantern, which he placed on a nearby hook. It did not take long before Cedric recognized the face of Richard's First Advisor, Virgil Garvey. The craftsman's eyes narrowed.

"Good morning, Mister Curtis," the despicable man opened with an eerily cheerful tone. "I trust the accommodations were to your liking?"

Cedric turned away, unwilling to give Virgil the benefit of acknowledging his sarcasm.

"I understand King Richard paid you a visit earlier," the pompous man pressed. "His Majesty can be so tactless at times. Of course, I think he underestimates you. I think you're smarter than he gives you credit—"

"Spare me your insincerity, Mister Garvey," Cedric lashed out, hoping to cut his attempt at persuasion short. "I have no intention of cooperating with your nefarious schemes."

The goading fool chuckled under his breath, expelling giddy little puffs of air through his nose. "I sympathize with your ethical dilemma, Mister Curtis—especially the sordid issue involving the so-called Kitezhian strike. I don't expect to win any humanitarian awards … but you can't argue with the results. The fact is that when our work is done, this dirty deed will be but a glimmer in the memories of Angkor's citizens, outshone by the glittering of our nation's might atop the world. The sunstones will grant us powers unlike anything you've ever experienced. In return for helping us reach this dream, we would be willing to grant you _anything_ you heart desires."

Cedric gritted his teeth. If it was a bargain Virgil wanted, he was happy to play that game. "_Anything_?" he asked disingenuously.

"Yes," the lying bastard confirmed in the sweetest of tones. "Surely there's something that even a man of your … _wealth_ … might find palatable."

Cedric walked to the bars of his cell and looked Virgil straight in the eyes. "What I want, Mister Garvey … is for you to get your soulless deceitful face out of my sight!"

Virgil's eyes narrowed, but his lip crooked upwards.

"Mister Curtis," he returned with horrifying calm, "you might be naïve enough to think that being thrown in this dungeon is the worst thing we can do to you …."

Cedric tensed. "What do you mean by that?" He tried to speak commandingly, even though his body could not stop shaking. "You intend to torture me? You obviously have no comprehension of how much focus it takes to design my ships. If you break my body, you might as well break my mind! I'll be no use to you injured!"

He shouted the last few words, but Virgil ignored them. He had left mid-way through the craftsman's tirade, leaving Cedric to wonder what the vile man had in store. His hands clenched around the bars of his cell, beads of sweat oozing from his brow. The thought of torture truly instilled abject fear, but it was true that designing airships required great amounts of concentration. He could not complete his designs with broken bones and a wounded body. But did Virgil understand that?

Several minutes passed, all while Cedric's stomach twisted in anxious anticipation. At last, the doorway swung back open. The craftsman backed away instinctively, ready to cower in the darkest corner of his cell. When Virgil finally appeared, he was joined by two other men. The first was scrawny and ragged, wearing nothing but prisoner's garb and a hood covering his face. The second followed close behind, prodding the first one forward. The larger man had a strong build, with enormous shoulders and biceps bursting from his open tunic.

Cedric looked at them blankly, his face a mixture of worry and contempt. He did not know what to expect, and that uncertainty was excruciating. When they approached the cell, the large man bound the smaller man's hands through the bars. The emaciated figure slumped forward in pure resignation.

"What in the Goddess's name are you doing?" Cedric shrieked in a voice that sounded hysterical.

Virgil walked over to the small man and removed the hood. "I believe you two know one another, correct?"

"Adam!" Cedric cried, recognizing Mason Eckerd's youngest son. He was barely in his teenage years, someone Cedric remembered as a handsome youth with flowing blond hair. But now, his face was battered and lip split open.

"Wh—Mister Curtis, is that you?" The boy tried to open his eyes, but they were bruised and swollen shut. He appeared to be on the verge of collapse, using the bars for support, though barely enough to remain standing.

Before Cedric could say anything, Virgil spoke over him. "Now that we've made introductions, it's time to begin."

"Wait! What do you mean!" Cedric cried.

Without responding, the larger man uncoiled a whip from around his hip, threw back his hand, and struck Adam directly on his back. The young man wailed loudly, his screams echoing off the cold stone walls.

Cedric ran to the bars and banged his fists against them. "How dare you—you _sadist_!" he screamed at Virgil, his voice raging against confinement, his hands desperate to burst forth and wrap themselves tightly around Virgil's neck. "How can you stand there and allow this innocent boy to be tortured?"

Virgil's face was stone. "The question, Mister Curtis, is whether you will commit to finishing the Zounds design. Answer quickly."

Cedric opened his mouth, but froze before he uttered a word. He tried to think of something to say, but his captors would only be satisfied with one response. Virgil nodded to the man with the whip, who once again struck the boy's back.

Adam tried to scream, but it came out as a gurgling wheeze. Tears fell from his cheeks, and his face contorted in pain. Cedric fell to his knees and grasped the boy's hands. He wanted to shear apart the prison bars and take the beating himself, but he was helpless from within his cell.

Again, the whip struck, spraying blood against the wall and floor. A few drops landed on Cedric's face, but he, in shock, could not flinch. Time stalled, leaving the craftsman strangely transfixed by a line of mucus hanging from Adam's open jaw. The entire scene was impossible for Cedric's brain to comprehend—a nightmare from which he could not awaken. The boy's hands clenched briefly around Cedric's before going limp. Adam sank to his knees, his shoulders drooped against the iron bars.

Cedric could take no more. His wrenched his mind from its state of shock and rose to his feet. Never had he experienced such wanton cruelty! He screamed, sending rage and spittle out toward the monster on the other side.

"Bastard! You're killing him!"

"No, Mister Curtis," Virgil returned with frightening tranquility. "_You're_ killing him."

Again, the whip cracked loudly, ripping a chunk of flesh from the boy's back. Adam collapsed, sinking into unconsciousness. Cedric's eyes once again found tears, birthed by the conflagration of fury roiling within of him.

"_Damn you_!" he smashed his fists against the bars. "Damn you for this!" He threw himself forward, almost believing he could snap the bars by sheer force of will.

"I have nothing to fear from the damned," Virgil stated casually, sloughing off Cedric's reaction with spine-chilling serenity. "I'll only ask this one last time. You know the boy can't take another strike. If his life means anything to you, you'll commit your services to me with unwavering dedication. The Zounds design _will be_ operational."

Cedric took in shallow breaths, wanting to bellow in rage. Virgil deserved those whippings, not an innocent boy! Cedric vowed to make this anathema of a human being _pay_ for what he had done. He would _have his blood!_

The man with the whip threw back his hand, and Cedric finally gave in. "Yes!" he cried, just in time for Virgil to halt the strike with a raised forefinger.

The abominable man's cold gaze cut through the bars more effectively than any of Cedric's futile poundings. Cedric peered back into the monstrous eyes. He was almost close enough to reach forward with his hands and clench them around Virgil's throat. His body radiated hatred, while Virgil seemed to lap it up.

"Yes, _what _…?" the monster's lips spoke.

Cedric bared his teeth. "Yes, _I will complete my design!_"

Virgil's tone never changed. "And what shall you need to complete your design?"

Cedric stopped, dumbstruck. The hateful bastard made it so insultingly simple. Cedric could no longer meet his petrifying stare. He looked away until his wits returned.

"I … I'll need my schematics," in between short breaths he swallowed against the lump in his throat. He could barely think against the tide of animosity gushing from the restraints of his body. "And I'll need tools: a writing instrument, slide rule, and some textbooks—just bring whatever's on the desk in my office."

Virgil grinned, full of disgusting smugness. "Anything else?"

Cedric burned with the injustice of it all, but saw his chance for concessions. "Yes! I need more light, a change of clothes, some good food … _and _a better mattress—with warm blankets!"

Virgil laughed. "Well, well … I wager you'll be the most comfortable prisoner this dungeon's ever—"

Cedric cut him off. "And I demand the boy get medical attention. _Now!_"

Virgil snapped his fingers, and the man with the whip cut the bonds around Adam's wrists. He then picked up the limp body as if it were a sack of flour, and quietly left the room.

Virgil shifted his gaze back to Cedric. "Just make sure you don't deceive me," he threatened, still utterly unshaken. "This was a pleasant conversation, and I promise you … you do _not_ want to experience an _unpleasant_ one."

Cedric stewed in his spot, grasping the iron bars tightly until his knuckles turned white. The rage had mostly subsided, but a liquid-hot loathing remained. He vowed that someday, the tables would turn.

"I won't," he promised, but Virgil was already in the process of walking away. "But I want the boy taken care of! And I want what I asked for!"

It was doubtful that anyone heard the last part.


	62. Chapter 5: Part X

**.**

* * *

**Part X**

_Morning of Quartus, Twelfth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Zhao Peng ruled the people of Koba wisely and justly for more than sixteen years. He was prudent in his decisions, with a talent for leadership that made him one of the few emperors to retain his position for three consecutive terms. Unlike most monarchies, Koba had the right to choose a new emperor every six years. However, the candidates were limited to five royal bloodlines, and the vote was relegated to a group of twenty-four representatives from various cities and principalities, called the Grand Council. At the conclusion of each term, they appointed an emperor from the house they believed would best address the nation's needs.

Zhao came from House Agriculture, whose longstanding tradition was to support the nation's farmers and landowners. Emperors of this house protected the nation's ecology and natural resources, and controlled the production of food. The Grand Council elected Zhao following a ravenous blight that infested the rice crop, the nation's primary domestic food source. Zhao's background gave him the skills to ration the remaining resources, destroy the diseased plants, and stave off the spreading infection.

His successful leadership granted him a second term. Shortly afterward, Koba entered the War, Zhao's greatest challenge. Typically, the Council would have elected an emperor from House Protector, whose role was to protect the country during periods of strife. However, the Council had agreed to postpone the transition due to Zhao's popularity. To their delight, he continued to be a successful leader through the War's end. Even though Koba and Kitezh ended up surrendering to Angkor, Zhao's efforts to rebuild the nation were well-received—by his people as well as the Council.

These days, Zhao's daily governance was less eventful. Koba's economy was still not as prosperous as it was years ago, but at least it had stabilized, bringing unemployment under ten percent for the first time in seven years. Even a slightly underperforming economic peacetime was better than the turbulence of war. Zhao cringed at the memory of daily briefings, which included death counts, destroyed villages or rice fields, and tallies of regions suffering from cold or starvation.

He took a deep breath, and blew on his hot tea, which he sipped in between bites of steamed buns and rice rolls. He missed the drizzle of honey he used to enjoy over golden brown pastries, but his doctor had urged him to cut back on sweets. Sure enough, Zhao was getting older. His long white beard nearly touched the floor when he sat. It was a relic he had kept since his younger days—a tradition started by his great-great-grandfather. His hair had once been a raven-black, but now it was ghost-white.

He chuckled as he thought about his younger years, but his attention was diverted by the arrival of his herald, announcing the arrival of unexpected guests. Apparently, his trusted Kenju Master and longtime friend, Quon Nan, had arrived from Mount Abakai with startling news. Not only had the Kenju confirmed the presence of a Gnostic Knight upon the mountain, he had also narrowly escaped an ambush that would have otherwise cost him his life.

Surprisingly, the intervention came from a second renegade Gnostic Knight, along with an astoundingly mismatched group of followers. This included a young but powerful white wizard, a child from Ur—supposedly the last of her kind—and most surprisingly, the heir of Kitezh and his entourage of protectors.

Fearing an important omen, Zhao excused himself from breakfast and asked his herald to postpone the rest of his day's agenda. He intended offer these travelers his undivided attention. He began by welcoming the guests into his private chambers, where a crescent of austere chairs was situated near the back of the room. Quon made introductions and explained that young Master Brandt had urgent news.

Józef began his tale with the attack on Kitezh and the death of his father. Zhao was startled and saddened to hear of this tragedy, but understood that it meant that Józef had assumed his father's role. Zhao was pleased to hear him speak so eloquently, fairly representing his country's plight. The young prince had come a long way from the rambunctious youth that Zhao remembered.

Many years ago, the boy's father had made annual visits to Koba as a means to keep neighboring relations strong. Of course, the young prince was always a handful, easily bored, with a penchant for throwing tantrums. However, musical instruments always seemed to calm him. He took to the lute especially well, and the music he made was always delightfully enchanting. Zhao remembered those times fondly.

When Józef finished, Zhao folded his hands in deep thought. After a moment, he whispered to his herald, commanding him to arrange a meeting with the generals. If Angkor intended to wage war, then he would be prepared.

After the man left, he addressed the young Kitezhian monarch. "Master Brandt, it will take some time to gather my officials. In the meantime, I would like to hear what you know about the sunstones."

Józef deferred to the white wizard, a youthful woman with flushed cheeks who introduced herself as Rosa Reynolds. She had a scholarly presence for someone so young, and her stature demanded credibility. She explained her discoveries from the lost journals of Maurice Vance, and the horrible powers hidden inside the sunstones.

Zhao waited respectfully for her to finish, though he was already well informed about the Ahrimen. However, his Oath had forbade him from speaking about it. He had hoped to circumvent the magical provisions by asking the travelers to state their knowledge first. That way, if their accounts were accurate, he would not be in violation. Fortunately, that seemed to be the case.

He took in a deep breath. "I must admit, Miss Reynolds, that I was already aware of the sunstones' secrets. They were passed down to me through the Enchantment. The instant after I took the Oath of the Emperor, I knew everything. My predecessor, Xiao Ding, did not need to utter a word."

Bram leaned forward. "In that case, you may know information that would be vital toward our cause. We must know more about the Ahrimen, including what will happen if Angkor successfully harnesses their power."

Zhao nodded. "Indeed, you ask a relevant question, Sir Morrison. The Ahrimen are beings with foreign and unpredictable powers. I cannot overstate how incredibly dangerous it is for Angkor to seek and collect them."

"Are you at liberty to tell us more about these dangers?" Bram pressed.

"I believe I can," Zhao responded. "Ordinarily, the Enchantment forbids me from revealing any hidden truths, but fortunately, I feel a certain liberty to be forthcoming. Otherwise, the Enchantment's magic would forcefully hold me back from divulging any information."

Bram bowed his head. "Thank you, Emperor." Those in the room leaned closer, their seats groaning under their strain, to hear Zhao's explanation.

He cleared his throat. "Two dangers threaten the world, should the sunstones should fall into the wrong hands. The first is overuse, which is sure to happen the more King Richard draws upon the sunstones' powers. Eventually, the Ahriman imprisoned inside will begin to assert its own control. In fact, its corruption may have already begun."

Józef gasped. "Are you saying that King Richard could be acting under the influence of the Ahrimen already? Is that why he wages war so aggressively?"

Zhao nodded. "He may have already been inclined to do so, even before using the sunstones. But at this point, I am afraid his appetite for violence will only grow. It was why we, as Sunstone Protectors, swore never to use our own sunstones."

"What happens when the Ahrimen take control?" Bram asked.

Zhao lowered his head. "I am sorry, but I do not have all the answers. All I know is that no good will ever come from their powers. They are malevolent beings, who seek to bend the will of whomever uses their powers, influencing them to commit atrocious and immoral acts. I fear King Richard may have already been poisoned from the taint of their magic."

The room was steeped in silent terrified reflection. Zhao had been truthful. He did not know what would happen if Richard continued exercising the power of his sunstones. It was a choice no man had made before—or had even been at liberty to make. Zhao's imagination was not sure where to even begin.

After a few moments, Rosa spoke. "You mentioned that there were two dangers, Emperor. Which is the other?"

Zhao smiled. "You have a keen ear, Miss Reynolds. The second danger is that the sunstones will destabilize if they are ever brought in proximity to one another. The original wizards went to quite some trouble to keep them separated by long distances. Should all four come into contact, the enchantment imprisoning the Ahrimen will end, once again giving them free reign to spread evil and anarchy across the land."

Bram cursed. "Then we must stop Angkor before it's too late! For all we know, Richard may already be influenced to gather the sunstones for this purpose!"

Zhao nodded. "If he has not already been corrupted, then it is just a matter of time. He may believe the sunstones will grant him power, or fancy that he is actually in control. Regardless, our first objective must be to prevent him from obtaining the Sagittarius Stone."

"Sagittarius Stone?" Rosa repeated. "I'm not familiar with that term, Emperor Zhao. Can you explain?"

"You must excuse me, my dear," Zhao apologized. "The sunstones had different names long ago, and sometimes I use them interchangeably. The Sagittarius Stone is Koba's own sunstone. Minoa is home to the Pisces Stone, Kitezh the Gemini Stone, and Vineta the Capricorn Stone."

Rosa's interest looked piqued. "Are you familiar with the origin of these names?" she asked. "Sometimes we can learn profound insights by delving into this kind of history."

Zhao shook his head. "Unfortunately, I do not."

"What about 'moonstone'?" Bram inquired. "The Gnostic on Mount Abakai confessed that had been sent to search for one of these. He also mentioned something about 'blue smoke', which seemed to have been responsible for his aggressive behavior. Do either of these terms mean anything to you? Does the Enchantment reveal anything?"

"They are indeed quite curious," Zhao responded, taking a moment to ponder their meaning. "I know nothing of these terms, but that does not mean they are unimportant. Even so, I feel our first priority should be to build a defense around this city and protect the Sagittarius Stone from Angkor's air fleet. I will provide every available resource. We cannot take any chances, given the dangers."

Bram folded his arms, looking dissatisfied. "Wouldn't it be wiser to take the Sagittarius Stone out of the city? We can escape with it into the countryside, or even to the Southern Continent. We can seek asylum in Malden or Ek' Balam."

Zhao sighed. "Sadly, Sir Morrison, it is too late to flee at this point. With the power of the other sunstones, Angkor can track our location. I feel it would be best to defend the Sagittarius Stone from within Koba's fortifications."

Bram shook his head. "I shudder to consider the possibility, Emperor … but what if Koba's defenses aren't enough?"

"I agree," Rosa added. "If we fail, and the Ahrimen are freed from their prisons, the world is utterly unprepared to handle it. Does the Enchantment even provide you with the knowledge to defeat these creatures?"

Zhao thought hard. The Enchantment sometimes offered key pieces of information spontaneously into his thoughts, but try as he might, nothing came to him. "I … I am sorry. The Enchantment does not give me insight on how to return the Ahrimen to their prisons. For all we know, the means to do this may have already been lost forever."

Rosa stood up, her eyes wide. "I can't believe the knowledge is gone! I found the journals of Maurice Vance when the rest of the world thought the sunstones were nothing more than religious icons. I just know the truth is out there! We just need to find it!"

Zhao sympathized with the young woman's passion—more than she could ever know. He deeply pondered a response when his herald strode through the door. The small man bowed deeply. "The generals are ready to meet, Emperor."

Zhao thanked his servant and stood up. "Please excuse me as I discuss plans for how to defend the city. I have just one final question. When can we expect Angkor to attack?"

Bram offered his expertise. "They won't wait long, Emperor. It takes time to prepare an air siege, but they've already had a head start. I'd expect an attack within the next three days."

Zhao sighed gravely. "Then there is much to do in the meantime. I shall meet with the generals in private to arrange the necessary resources on short notice. Of course, I cannot force you to stay, but any tactical intelligence you provide would be greatly appreciated."

Józef spoke up. "I think I speak for everyone when I say that my men would be honored to join Koba in this battle. We cannot allow Angkor to obtain another sunstone. This battle involves everyone on Gaia."

The young king received nods and murmurs of support from the other Kitezhians. Zhao was also impressed with Józef's show of courage. He smiled warmly before responding.

"You have my personal thanks, Master Brandt, as well as the gratitude of Koba. Thank you. Now, please excuse me while I address the generals. After I have had a chance to begin preparations, I would like to invite Sir Morrison and Miss Reynolds to assist in forming a defensive plan against the Angkorian air fleet."

"It would be our pleasure," Bram responded.

With that said, the room dispersed, and Koba's leaders met to discuss how to prevent disaster.


	63. Chapter 5: Part XI

**.**

* * *

**Part XI**

_Afternoon of Quartus, Twelfth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Géorg had followed up on King Unruh's request to contact the Clan Lords of Saladin by enlisting the help of Lady White. She was Kitezh's most venerable spell-caster, well-dressed and refined, with all the hallmarks of a noble upbringing. She reminded Géorg of what Rosa Reynolds might look like when she reached the same age. However, Rosa's specialty was in healing, while Lady White's was the mind.

Before meeting her in person, Géorg had received some coaching on her past from Konrad. He learned that as a child with no training, she could listen to the thoughts of others. By age thirteen, she could manipulate those thoughts as well. Sadly for her, most people considered mind-reading and compulsion to be abominable arts, and so she was shunned by her family and friends alike. Hurt by their envy and rejection, she ran away from home and joined a wizard's guild in the eastern city of Wüerzburg. There, her abilities became a valuable and sought-after asset.

She spent years selling out to jealous noblewomen who would break open their fat purses in the hope of learning the secret whereabouts of their husbands after dark, or to haughty politicians who wanted their speeches to leave a distinct impression. One of these latter cases turned out to be a member of the Royal Ministry from Rungholt who had traveled to Wüerzburg for business.

He realized her skills were worth more than cheap tricks, so he offered her a job as a personal attendant. He promised to open up new doors and opportunities, and sure enough, she became Royal Apprentice in only six years—an incredible career position with exposure all the way up to the king and queen! After many more years of training under her predecessor, she eventually ascended to one of the most important and influential positions in the nation—Kitezh's Lady of White Magic.

With Lady White's help, Géorg spent the past couple of days contacting the Saladina Clan Lords. The stately wizard showed him how to assist in spell preparation, such as drawing circles of power on the floor and gathering the necessary ingredients from the storerooms. Incidentally, Géorg's years of study in herbal medicine made it easy for him to identify the right components. Lastly, she showed him how to utilize the Navigations Minister to find out exactly where to focus the spell, based on the location of the various Clan Lords, which only Géorg knew about.

The one-armed man had never had so much exposure to magic in his life. His only past experience came from the small amounts he had learned from Ilse, as well as the brief time he spent with Matthias the Gray. He was intrigued by the chance to study Lady White's art and learn about a subject that had long fascinated him.

The most surprising part was when Lady White informed him that he also held innate magical abilities. Although he had never learned the proper way to expose them, she promised that with time and training, he might one day become modestly adept at casting white magic. The news was uplifting after the first three conversations with Clan Lords ended in failure. They told him plainly within the first few minutes that they wanted nothing more to do with the Kitezhian government.

Fortunately, his fourth contact, a Clan Lord named Samir, did not share the same sentiment. More accurately, Samir was the man's desert name, which many Clan Lords adopted for the purpose of anonymity. Géorg first met Samir shortly after the War, when he was a new name struggling to make a reputation among the other Saladina elite. At the time, Samir had yet to amass any kind of sizable fortune, making him less valuable as a resource for King Unruh. However, after three straight rejections, Géorg was desperate enough to see if his old acquaintance had made any progress over the years.

Like many other Saladina people, Samir did not grow up in the desert, but rather migrated there in search of a new life. Some Clan Lords arrived after being exiled from their homelands, to flee criminal prosecution, or to avoid the draft. However, Samir fled to escape creditors. As a younger man, his small Kitezhian import business fell on hard times, and he ended up owing money to the wrong people. Fearing for his life—and those of his wife and infant son—he left his homeland to start anew. Since Samir had grown up in Kitezh, he was still sympathetic to their plight. He was not like the other Clan Lords, who had lost business due to the kingdom's unreasonable regulations, or those with criminal histories who had long been prosecuted by Kitezhian authorities.

To Géorg's delight, he learned that Samir's position had grown considerably since the War's end. He now owned plenty of land, and had accumulated a great deal of wealth. The best news was that he thought his warehouses might carry the right equipment to build additional airships. He promised to speak with Géorg in a few days, once he had a chance to review his inventory. The conversation could not have gone better. Géorg was in high spirits as he shared warm smiles with Lady White.

"Well done, Mister Töller," she congratulated.

"Thank you, my Lady," he bowed, feeling the buzz of success inside of him. Ever since leaving his old life behind in Saladin, he had wanted to feel useful. At least, by helping Kitezh to retaliate against Angkor, he felt that he was doing some good.

Lady White smiled gracefully. "I think we can conclude for the day. I do not expect there is anyone else you need to contact?"

"No, Madam, but I will need to reconnect with Samir in a few days."

"Very well," she replied, "but please be sure to let me know a bit in advance."

"Yes, of course." Géorg rose from his seat inside the magical circle.

"Just one more thing, Mister Töller," Lady White added as she gathered her belongings. "Lady Black requested that you visit her at some point today."

Géorg nodded. "I will be sure to do that."

"Good." Lady White was quick to reach the door, looking eager to leave. "Now, I must bid you farewell. There are many other matters that require my attention. Excuse me."

Géorg bowed respectfully and followed Lady White out of her small scrying room. He stepped into a hallway, packed with people. The king's offices had already outgrown the inn's accommodations, and the floor was shoulder to shoulder with officials. While he watched Lady White disappear into the crowd, he heard a voice call his name from the opposite direction. He turned to face a very eager Konrad trying hard to weave through the miasma of people.

"Géorg," he called out, waving his arm fervently. "I am glad to run into you." He grasped the one-armed man by the shoulder and led him down the current of busy people. "We should find a place to chat. Unruh asked me to find out how much progress you have made with the Clan Lords."

"I might have made _some_," Géorg teased with a wink, relishing the look of enthusiasm on Konrad's face. He followed his friend to a quiet nook near the servant's quarters.

Konrad rolled his hand impatiently. "So … how goes it?"

Géorg smirked. "It turns out my fourth contact is willing to do business with us. He promised to check his storerooms for spare parts, and was even hopeful that he may have a few completed ships sustaining only minor damage."

Konrad's eyes lit up. "Blessed Gaia, you did it!" He gave the one-armed man a well-intentioned pat on the shoulder.

It left Géorg feeling curious whether his friend had had similar success. "How about you tell me of your own progress, in terms of stabilizing the city's government functions."

Konrad almost glowed, clearly excited to relay his news. "Well … first off, we confirmed that Angkor has completely left Kitezhian airspace. Of course, we readied the anti-airship cannons—just in case they return."

Géorg was relieved. Many of the city's citizens were worried about the Angkorian Bogeyman, but it seemed Kitezh was in the clear—at least for the time being.

"What else?" he asked, sensing his friend had more to say.

Konrad looked ready to burst with excitement. "We made a lot of progress in the last few days. As you know, we sustained heavy casualties near the palace, but the rest is not as bad as we thought. Many of our white wizards survived, and have since returned to treat the injured at the local medical centers. Moreover, the damage missed most of our supply warehouses, including the food reserves. The Minister of Transportation reopened the ports this morning, and the Minister of Infrastructure claims our water and sewage framework is functioning within specified limits. Lastly, the Minister of Safety just restored order to the local police. Thankfully, civil unrest is unusually low for this kind of crisis. We expected riots, but the worst so far has been a brawl between two of the construction guilds over who would get the contract to rebuild the palace."

Konrad snickered at this last part, apparently finding humor in it. "We have accomplished so much, but now … I am exhausted!"

Géorg chuckled, so relieved at the good news that he was willing to listen through Konrad's entire long-winded update. In fact, he found his friend's enthusiasm refreshing.

"I could use some rest, too," he agreed. "From now on, I intend to give wizards much more credit. Spell-casting is far more involved than I first imagined. It takes hours of preparation—and if you fail to maintain a deep concentration throughout, you must restart from the beginning. Even so, the results were worth it. We have _both_ done our duty today, my friend."

The scrawny man blushed. "Now, now, we must not be overconfident. There is still much to do before our country returns to stability, much less prolonged safety. However, I agree we deserve to feel proud for our accomplishments. I am sure Unruh will be pleased, too."

"Oh, before I forget," Géorg mentioned. "Do you know where I can find Lady Black? Lady White told me she wanted to speak with me."

Konrad's face became deadly serious. His eyes opened wide, as if seeing an ogre enter the room. "Do you know what that means, Géorg? Lady Black is a _diviner_. She sees things that no one else can—including _the future_. If she asked to see you, it must be important!"

Géorg wondered why Konrad was so taken aback by meeting with Lady Black. Géorg had never met a diviner, and Lady White never prepared him for what to expect. He almost felt blindsided.

Konrad's demeanor shifted from shock to curiosity. "I wonder what Lady Black intends to tell you. Would you mind if I joined?"

Géorg hesitated, suddenly feeling apprehensive. "Sure … you can show me the way."

Konrad stood up and offered a free hand to pull Géorg to his feet. The one-armed man accepted.

"She recently took residence in a nearby loft," Konrad explained, motioning toward the nearest exit. "We should go right away. Follow me!"

Géorg and Konrad exited the building onto a busy cobblestone path that connected to the main street. The areas around the inn were bustling with people, almost as much as the inside. Further east, the street took them to a row of upscale apartments. Because the districts around the palace were in ruins, King Unruh had sanctioned the seizure of several nearby buildings, so that key city officials could move inside and be closer to central operations. As for the owners, they were all well-compensated to move to other districts, and most of them were happy to oblige for the sake of Kitezh. The few remaining stragglers were given eviction notices and armed escorts. One of the larger four-story towers had a spacious loft on top that Lady Black had found modestly palatable.

"Keep in mind," Konrad reminded on their way inside, "she may seem eccentric, but she is also very powerful and wise."

Géorg nodded as he followed Konrad into the tower and up the stairwell to the topmost floor. The two men arrived at a well-decorated flat, with windows and walls adorned with brightly-colored drapes and tapestries, covered with ornate designs filled with all sorts of florid symbols. Géorg recognized a few mystic runes, similar to the ones from Lady White's scrying room. From a large archway, covered with a curtain of colorful beads, Géorg heard the pleasing sound of a harp and flute entwined in a gentle melody.

"Step forward, Mister Töller and Mister Rommel," a voice chimed from behind the curtain.

Géorg and Konrad followed the voice, which led them into a large chamber. Lady Black lay comfortably on a plush couch in the back of the room, her black silken gown flowing like a river at midnight, sourced at her breasts and tumbling along every curve—all the way to her ankles. She was quite different from the older and more refined Lady White: younger, sultry, more seductive. Her features were flawless, except for slight wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. Long black hair full of body and curl cascaded half way down her lithe and slender body. Her lips and nails were painted in red ochre, and her eyes were lined with inky kohl.

Dozens of candles formed pools of light around the room, with shadows stepping daintily to avoid falling in. Kitezhian rugs with dark interwoven patterns laid across the floor, and furniture along the sides of the room were covered with an assortment of eclectic curiosities, clearly procured from travels to Gaia's most exotic locales.

"I am pleased to see that _both_ of you have arrived," Lady Black mused, with a thickly layered East-Kitezhian accent—the kind that firmly accentuated every consonant. "I only discovered a few moments ago that Mister Rommel did not receive his invitation."

Géorg did not bother to ask how she knew.

"I hope you enjoyed the ambiance," she continued. "The music is something I captured from a Vinetan traveling band. I put it in a bottle so it would play for me whenever I miss it."

She sat up and reached for an adjacent end-table, where a small phial and cork sat on top. She placed the cork in the phial, thereby trapping the music within. Géorg longed to hear more, since the silence that followed came across as strangely discomforting.

"Now … if you do not mind, I would like to get started." She gestured toward a low round table with a candle in the center and cushions along the circumference. "Please, sit."

Géorg and Konrad did as she asked, and Lady Black soon joined them. After grasping both men by the hands, she directed Konrad to complete the circle by placing his left hand on Géorg's right shoulder.

She cleared her throat with the tiniest of coughs. She seemed delicate, though appearances were deceptive. She was still Kitezh's most powerful black wizard. When she began, her eyes went wide, creating an ominous contrast between the black eyeliner, irises of darkest brown, and the bright white sclera in between. Her eyes seemed to capture the orange candle-flame, adding even more to the foreboding mood.

Her eyes darted to Géorg, nearly piercing through his skin with their searing-hot gaze. "As you might have guessed, I asked you here to share in a vision. Take note that I do not invite just anyone to my private chambers to witness these divinations. However, you will soon discover that one vision in particular concerns the future of our beloved city. My hope is that by offering you its insight, we might achieve a better outcome."

"We are honored to help," Konrad affirmed.

Géorg realized that he had forgotten to breathe for the last several moments. He sucked in a lung full of air, trying not to sound out of breath. "I am honored, too, my Lady … but I thought your visions were never wrong. How then could we expect to change the outcome?"

The black wizardress smiled. "You are correct, Mister Töller. The events contained within my visions are destined to happen. Yet, what lies beyond is up to you. Please do not spend time trying to prevent the future from taking place. Rather, consider which paths might someday lead you there, and use that information to guide your next steps."

Géorg nodded. "I understand, my Lady."

She wagged an index finger. "I must warn you, though … the visions may confuse you, and they often come without context or explanation. People often find them cryptic, and I do not have all the answers. Therefore, I ask that you have patience, and put some thought into what they might mean."

"We shall, Lady Black," Géorg promised. Konrad echoed a similar sentiment.

The black wizardress nodded and began her incantation. As the words flowed from her lips, the candle in the center of the table sputtered and spit. The flame grew larger until it formed a wide mirror-like surface. Géorg saw images in the center that shifted around chaotically. Soon enough, when the image finally stabilized, Konrad gasped.

"It shows an army surrounding the city," he cried. "They seem to be preparing for an attack! Are we foreseeing Angkor's return?"

Géorg felt an onset of panic as he witnessed the same scene, but Lady Black merely sighed. "Patience, Mister Rommel. It is indeed an image of our future, but these are not Angkorian armies."

"Whose, then?" Konrad demanded.

"Look closer, Mister Rommel," she commanded.

Konrad leaned forward, peering deep into the flame.

"No … it cannot be!" His eyes opened wide, reflecting the candle's dancing flames. "Those are Kitezhian soldiers … preparing to attack our capital!"

Géorg watched in horror, while beside him, Lady Black remained silent and unaffected. Her lips pursed, as if she were consciously holding back her opinion, in order to let the men come to their own conclusions.

Géorg turned to Konrad instead. "What do you think it means?"

"Is it not obvious?" the First Advisor cried. "These men are laying siege to our city, which must mean that Angkor will somehow reclaim control. I must take this information to Unruh immediately!"

Konrad broke the circle, and the vision quickly disappeared. The candle's flame shrank down to normal size.

Lady Black was quick to chastise him. "Return to your seat, Mister Rommel! You can deal with the consequences later, but there is more you must see, first. Now _sit_!"

Konrad obeyed, looking remorseful, but also anxious. Géorg had almost been ready to join him. He sympathized with his friend, knowing how frustrating it must be to think that Angkor would someday recapture the city. The expression on his face was agonizing.

Once the First Advisor returned to the circle, the flame once again grew to a wide mirror-like surface. When the stable image returned, Géorg saw a man among the soldiers. He stared into the flame as closely as he dared, trying to get a better look.

His body tensed when he recognized the figure. It was himself! Though curiously, his future projection still had both arms attached. He also carried a sword and shield, as if preparing for imminent battle. Moreover, he shouted orders to the other men, including senior military personnel. It seemed there was no other explanation. For whatever reason, the future version of himself was _leading_ the battle to reclaim the city!

The air in the room was stifling. The one-armed man shook his head to clear the fog, but when he looked back, the image remained, clear as day. "This cannot be the future me," he found himself arguing. "My arm was lost years ago! This must be an _imposter!_"

Lady Black shook her head disapprovingly. "Just as I explained earlier, Mister Töller, these visions tell of the future, and they are _destined_ to occur. Admittedly, I am aware of no magic capable of growing back limbs, and these are clearly not prosthetics made of steel or wood. It appears as if your own flesh will return to you. I cannot explain how, but nevertheless, it will happen."

Géorg was far from satisfied with the explanation. Why should Lady Black show him anything at all, if there was no explanation behind it, or even a means to change it? If the future were inevitable, was it not better to confront it at the natural time? Why pollute one's mind with riddles, if it served no purpose?

Lady Black seemed to understand. She smiled sympathetically, but continued her incantation. The vision inside the flame panned eastward, over the fields and hills of the Kitezhian countryside. About a league's distance from Géorg's camp was a second army.

Konrad peered close to the flame. "Those are also Kitezhian soldiers," he mused, staring intently, looking as if he were trying to put the puzzle together. "No, wait—I finally understand." His expression turned dour. "It was never a siege on our capital. These two armies face each other. Kitezhian against Kitezhian … this is _civil war!_"

Géorg shared in Konrad's gloom. The Kitezhian people had already suffered enough fighting Angkor, which made it even more gut-wrenching to see them facing off against each other. "What could have brought us to fight ourselves?"

As the vision continued to pan, the First Advisor's jaw dropped. On the other side of the portal was the man leading the second army, a man who looked exactly like Konrad himself.

_"_This cannot be happening," he blathered. "The vision shows _me_ leading the separatists? Impossible! I would _never_ betray my homeland!"

"Either side could be the resistance," Géorg argued. Of course, he realized that if Konrad's army defended the crown, then his own army must have aligned with the revolt. Either way, it was clear that the people of Kitezh would one day face off against one another, and the two friends would be on opposite sides. Géorg was heart-broken—a deep well of sadness and regret leading all the way to the pit of his gut.

"It cannot be true," Konrad insisted, even though Géorg was sure that Lady Black would contradict him. "I am, and always will be, loyal to the crown. I will never defect, nor will I ever lead an army. I am not even any good at military tactics …." He continued mumbling under his breath, clearly distraught and unaccepting of the vision.

"When is this supposed to happen?" Géorg asked.

Lady Black shook her head. "The visions do not tell me _when_, Mister Töller, nor do they tell me _why_. I showed you this in the hope that we can prevail against any actual bloodshed. As you can see, the vision shows us the conditions _before_ a potential battle. I am hopeful that—"

She stopped in mid-sentence.

"Lady Black, is something wrong?" Géorg wondered.

He watched her head tilt back and her pupils roll beneath her eyelids. Her hands squeezed tightly, and her body jolted in frightfully powerful spasms, rattling her willowy figure. He was tempted to break the circle to help, but worried that he might be interfering with an intentional part of the incantation. She started speaking, but the words came out as gibberish.

"Lady Black?" Géorg was very concerned. He tugged on her arm, but she did not respond. He turned to face Konrad. "Do you think we should help her?"

"No, look! The flame!" Konrad gestured with his head. "She is having another vision!"

Sure enough, the candle's flame grew, but this time, its surface was huge. It took up the entire space, from tabletop to ceiling. The edges burned so brightly that Géorg worried about the loft suddenly going up in flames. Images formed in the center, flashing more furiously than ever. A deep low-frequency vibration emanated from the center, sending shockwaves throughout the room, rustling the pages of nearby books and knocking objects off the bookshelves. The pools of light pouring from the candles evaporated—tiny flames angled toward shining surfaces, bent by a breeze that did not exist in this realm. Géorg felt fear beyond anything else he had felt before.

Suddenly, the image in the flame stabilized, and Géorg peered inside. He took shallow breaths as he beheld a scene that could have only come from a nightmare. It was a charred and barren landscape filled with gigantic spawn, larger and more powerful than anything on Gaia. The bodies of men and women lay strewn about, buried under layers of dust and ash. The air was hazy, filled with what looked like toxic fumes.

The image panned, showing cities in ruin. Lakes and rivers reduced to empty sand-beds, mighty mountains toppled, forests buried under mounds of rubble. Gaping sinkholes opened up, consuming entire valleys. Finally, in the distance, the image panned to a towering structure. The giant spawn slowly marched toward it.

It looked like some kind of tower, but taller and more slender than any manmade object. It measured thousands of spans in height, defying all natural physics. It appeared like a shadow against the backdrop of a crimson sky, an edifice exceeding the height of the mountains themselves. A beam of light emanated from the pinnacle, creating a strand of pure energy, shooting straight up to the heavens.

Géorg wanted to scream in terror. It felt so real, and he was transfixed. He watched from the outside, but felt as if he were within—a horror beyond his most gruesome imagination. Slowly, the ground broke apart. Lava spurted from all directions, and the landscape sank beneath an ocean of magma. Géorg watched as his beloved planet collapsed in on itself, crumbling into a massive ball of fiery destruction.

In that instant, the images stopped, and the candle's flame returned to normal. Lady Black fell to the side, her face drenched in sweat. Géorg stumbled over to reach her, leaving Konrad behind in a state of catatonic shock.

"Lady Black … Lady Black, please wake up!" Géorg begged as he tapped her lightly on the cheeks with his only hand.

The wizardress took a deep breath and shook her head groggily. With her eyes wide open, she screamed. It took some time before Géorg could calm her down enough to speak lucidly.

"Did you see it?" she demanded several times as her eyes darted back and forth. "Did you see the vision?"

Konrad snapped out of his state of shock and joined the wizardress in panic. "Yes, we saw the vision!" he exclaimed. "But you cannot expect us to accept a future like that as inevitable! What in the Goddess's name was that?"

Lady Black tried to catch her breath. "I … do not know. It was unlike any of my other visions." She slowly collected herself. "I have never been unsure of my visions before, but this time I am certain we did not witness our future. It almost felt like … something wanted to warn me … about a _possible_ future."

Géorg was beside himself. "But it was the end of the world! Even if just a warning, how could we ever expect to prevent such a disaster?"

"Please, remain calm," she pleaded. "I must record the vision before I forget even a single detail. You must send for Lady White immediately. I need her powers of the mind to help me analyze. And I implore you not to tell anyone! The Kitezhian people are very familiar with my talents, and it would destroy what little morale this city has left!"

Géorg nodded, but he still reeled from the encounter. His entire body shook, and he felt sick. "Very well," he said, trying to pull himself together. "If you are uncertain, then we owe you the time to figure it out."

"I promise to contact you if I learn anything," she offered.

Géorg slowly led a very pale Konrad out of the loft. Both men shook from their encounter, but they agreed never to divulge any details, including the first vision. After all, they did not want to alert King Unruh of a potential separatist upheaval with so much missing information. Besides, it was sure to implicate at least one of them as a defector, since the vision had each man on opposite sides.

Géorg was afraid of having to fight his own people, much less the man who stood by his side. Konrad had quickly become a trusted friend, and not someone he was willing to lose or cast aside. He hoped to find a way to avoid any actual confrontation. Otherwise, what was he working so hard to do? Why save the people of Kitezh from Angkor's wrath, if they would only end up fighting among themselves? It made him question why he ever left Saladin in the first place. Clearly, if he was ever to find meaning in his life and accomplish anything, he would need to find a way to stop the violence altogether.

It was a frustrating conundrum, but in the meantime, he and Konrad agreed to remain focused on the counter-attack against Angkor. It absolutely _had_ to succeed, and visions of the end of the world would simply have to wait for another day.


	64. Chapter 5: Part XII

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* * *

**Part XII**

_Morning of Terminus, Fourteenth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Two days had passed since Bram warned of Angkor's attack. Never letting down his guard, he awoke before dawn each morning to check on preparations. As he traversed the battlements of Tiahuanaco's western tower, a light mist coated his Gnostic armor. The droplets created humble pings as they landed, the only sound that morning. The solitude gave him a chance to play with various scenarios. He was quite familiar with Angkor's tactics, since he had developed many of them himself. Their battle plans ran like clockwork in his head, cogs fitted together by a master horologist.

Unfortunately, the tense political climate currently running rampant within the city had unseated the gears in his mind. Critics had begun speaking out against the emperor's orders, including some very influential members of the Grand Council. The detractors cast doubt on the attack, and with no sign yet of the enemy, their speculation generated fear among the citizenry. Not even the scores of scouts and white wizards set up along the country's borders—ready to give ample warning of Angkor's approach—could reassure the doubters.

Rumors abounded, including the claim that it was all an elaborate lie, meant to catch the city off guard. The Koban people knew that Bram had provided the warning, and they had no reason to trust the word of a Gnostic Knight. Some suggested that he had purposely spread bad intelligence, and one particularly conservative Grand Council member even went so far as to call him a spy meant to infiltrate the country and steer resources in the wrong direction. Emperor Zhao vowed to have his men ready, but his political enemies spoke out openly against him.

Bram worried what might happen if the critics succeeded in diverting the city's resources. As he brooded over worst-case possibilities, a lone figure emerged from the darkness.

"Master Nan," he greeted the Kenju Master, relieved to have someone rescue him from his own paranoia.

"Sir Morrison," Quon returned, in his usual professional manner. "I thought I might find you here. I trust everything is still in order?"

Bram nodded. "If all goes as planned, I think we stand a good chance. Of course, I'm concerned that we've heard no word of Angkor's advance. The scouts and wizards should have seen them by now."

Quon bowed his head. "The Council met with the Conclave earlier this morning. They announced the same as before, but my impression was that they were a bit less sure of themselves."

Bram was intrigued. "How do you mean?"

The Kenju Master paused before answering. His face looked grave in the morning drizzle, an emotion that Bram had not yet seen from the disciplined man.

"I would not have thought so before, but I swore they doubted their findings. I spoke to some of the Conclave members in private, and they admitted to some strange readings from their spells of magic detection. Keep in mind that there is no known magic capable of hiding an entire air fleet, but these Conclave members worry that Angkor might have found a way."

Bram jumped in. "Of course they did! They have two of the sunstones already in their possession. It's certainly possible that some of the hidden powers would allow airships to disappear from view!"

Quon sighed. "I agree, but the rest of Koba does not yet know about the sunstones. Emperor Zhao is not at liberty to tell them, due to the Enchantment. As far as the Conclave and the Grand Council are aware, Angkor's motive to return to war is a baffling mystery."

"But surely the Conclave's readings are enough to raise alarm," Bram argued. "Who would dare to bet against the chance of a surprise attack?"

Quon shook his head. "Unfortunately, it is not that simple. The Conclave would not be so bold as to suggest a brand-new kind of magic. Anyone who did would be the subject of ridicule by the Council. They do not trust in their findings enough to stand up against bullying politicians, and as a result, their silence has fueled the critics to cast more doubt. If not for King Brandt's testimony, we would have a serious problem with detractors. They are becoming ever more vocal, and I fear if Angkor does not arrive soon, those who have remained indecisive will begin to side with the skeptics."

Bram buried his face in his hands. The politics in Angkor had already left a bitter taste, but they were nothing like Koba's. The councilmembers publicly threatened to roll back the city's defenses—right when Angkor was poised to attack. He felt his rage and frustration return at the thought of Richard seizing yet another sunstone. He had come too far to let things break down from political cockfighting.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, desperate to try anything.

"I do not think you should get involved," Quon advised. "The Council distrusts you, and you would only make things worse. Besides, the city's defenders will eventually need rest. Men cannot remain perpetually on alert. The emperor has convinced the Council to wait one more day, but if Angkor does not arrive, I am afraid he will not be able to hold back the political pressure to shut down the preparations."

Bram nodded, but his insides had twisted into ugly knots. Koba had done remarkably well in mobilizing the army on short notice, and he did not want to see it all unwind the moment before Angkor attacked. If they could just hold out a bit longer, the city would be prepared. The Conclave had the country's finest white and black wizards, and Koba's military had retained an ample supply of weaponry following the War—including aerial ballistae capable of taking down airships.

With these resources, Bram felt good about his ability to protect the sunstone, as long as the military did not succumb to the politicians. Though if the army did cave, he would need to convince the emperor to take the sunstone out of the city. Despite Angkor's ability to track its location, constantly relocating the sunstone around the surrounding forests might buy some time while a more permanent solution is found.

As he considered his options, another figure emerged from the misty morning.

Quon looked at the young woman longingly. "My love?" he called out.

"I am here, husband," she responded in an East-Kitezhian accent. "I was told I might find you here."

When she reached Quon's side, he turned to Bram to make introductions. "Sir Morrison, this is my light and my heart—my wife, Katharina."

The woman was beautiful, with soft black hair and ivory skin. Her features were strikingly Kitezhian, but they went well with her finely woven ruby-colored Koban silk scarf that she wore around her head and shoulders. Bram removed his horned Gnostic's helm and bowed politely. The cold morning drizzle splashed behind his ears.

"So, I finally meet the Gnostic Knight I have heard so much about," Katharina began, her face twisting into a scowl. "The last time I ran into one of your ilk was during the War, when he led a band of soldiers through my village. They killed my friends and my family, and left nothing but destruction in their wake."

Bram was taken aback, and his heart filled with shame. With all that had happened, he almost felt like he could leave his past behind. But he should have known it was just a matter of time before he would run into a survivor of one of the Knighthood's most vicious acts. He just wished it had not been the spouse of one of the few men willing to stand up in his defense. He wondered if Quon knew about the incident. Would he feel different now, or lose his confidence in Bram's honesty? Would he too side with the opposition?

Bram could not help but respond. The words flowed from his heart before he even had time to think them through. "I'd beg for forgiveness … but I know my words are no more than cold comfort."

His gaze fell penitently to the ground in front of him. "They were horrific times … but that is no excuse for the brutality we caused, or the lives we ended. All I can offer is my heartfelt promise to make amends, and to defend Koba with my life."

Katharina glared at Bram as he spoke, but by the end her features softened. Her lips tightened and a single eyebrow rose up, as if contemplating his response.

"I can already tell that you are different," she finally responded in a warmer tone. "It would be wrong of me to judge a man based on the actions of his kin. As long as you keep true to your word, Sir Morrison, Koba owes you thanks. And you shall have mine as well."

For a moment, Bram felt the weight of his worries lighten. "Thank you, my Lady," he bowed, unsure what else to say. He felt better knowing that Quon's wife would not stand against him, but at the same time, the feelings of guilt and shame still festered.

As for Quon, the Kenju Master beamed with pride. He excused himself to speak with his wife in private. Bram was sure the two had much to talk about, since Angkor could still theoretically strike at any moment.

Bram continued his survey along the battlements, feeling the first rays of sunlight hit his face, watching the long shadows recede from the stone framework. The scene was almost serene—the calm before the storm—with birds chirping in the distance. He almost lost himself in the moment, when he heard footsteps approach from behind. Thinking Quon had returned, he turned ready to face the Kenju Master, but instead his eyes landed on Rosa.

It was a pleasant surprise, and found himself smiling widely. "You look beautiful," he observed, noticing the sensuously tailored white wizard's robes that replaced the tatters of her old Angkorian attire. "The Conclave has been kind to you."

"Indeed, they have." She returned his smirk, giving a twirl that showed off her feminine physique. But her smile quickly faded. "Bram … I know we discussed earlier that I would play a defensive role in this battle, but I've changed my mind. I want to fight by your side. I don't know how things will turn out, but I can't bear to have something happen to you while I'm not there."

He took her by the waist and pulled her close. Feeling her touch raised his spirits, and he never wanted to let go. "Rosie … if things were different, I would have you at arm's length at all times. But you belong with the Conclave. If something should happen to me, I need you to protect the palace. You're the only one I trust to watch over Uriana."

She nodded, but he caught a lone tear curve down her cheek. Overcome with emotion, he dropped his helm to fully embrace her. Had he not known better, he would have sworn he felt magic. His love for Rosa had grown through their ordeal, and now they faced a menace that was once a part of both their lives.

Angkor was their home, as well as their past. As much as they had hoped otherwise, they knew their homeland would fight for their sunstone, and bring an air fleet with incredible destructive capabilities. Angkor had control of the air, better magic, superior weaponry, and most devastatingly, larger numbers. Bram had prepared the Koban people as well as he could, but he did not know if it would be enough.

And at that moment, the battle horn sounded. Angkor, the enemy, had been sighted.


	65. Chapter 5: Part XIII

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* * *

**Part XIII**

_Morning of Terminus, Fourteenth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Bram's warrior spirit flared to life as he gazed across the horizon. Where there had been only blue sky moments ago, now a number of small specks floated in the distance. It was clear by now that Angkor had used the power of the sunstone to hide their fleet from the Koban scouts and wizards at the border.

Bram quickly donned his helm as he and Rosa ran from the battlements. Along the way, they weaved between a barrack's worth of Koban soldiers scrambling to reach their posts. Dozens poured from the bastions, arms full of weapons and armor yet to be strapped on.

"Angkor approaches!" voices bellowed over the sound of the battle horn. "Take your positions! The battle is upon us!"

Bram and Rosa reached the city's wide central avenue stretching from the Western Gate all the way to the palace. Nearby, a large portcullis provided the city's first defense, but one that held no power against an aerial assault. Fortunately, ballistae lined the streets, armed with magically charged projectiles designed to pierce through an airship's armored hull. Black wizards ascended the battlements with magical staves, scrolls, and spell-enhancing artifacts. With these, they could blast entire airships out of the sky. Behind them, white wizards prepared a recitation of blessings to enhance their darker brethren.

Rosa moved to join her order when Bram caught her arm.

"Wait!" he pleaded. "If anything goes wrong, meet me at the palace. If they make it past our defenses, we must gather to protect the sunstone."

Rosa nodded, her look of strength and determination sending a surge of admiration through Bram's veins. He loosened his grip, and she withdrew to meet her comrades. As his fingers slid from hers, a chasm opened in his heart. He longed to cross the divide, but she had already disappeared into the crowd.

"Sir Morrison," beckoned a voice from behind. He turned to face a middle-aged Koban general. "Come this way, the others are waiting."

The man referred to the City Defenders, brave warriors who represented the first line of defense for the city. Bram had volunteered to fight alongside these brave warriors to put his experience in hand to hand combat to good use. While there was never any doubt that Angkor would bring airships, Koba's ballistae and wizards could easily take down more than half their fleet. Therefore, it made more sense for Angkor to construct a perimeter around the city, set up a ground siege, and focus their primary attack on the air defense. At that point, their airships would be of more use. Bram had prepared Koba with a plan that called for the City Defenders to take out any Angkorian ground troops to successfully scale the city walls.

"I hope the emperor's faith in you is well placed," the general told him. "Many of our maneuvers are based on your intelligence."

Bram faced the man confidently. "I know you doubt, General, but if Angkor breaks through the gates, I'm willing to risk my life to protect this city. The best thing you can do is to follow my lead."

The general nodded unhappily, leaving to perform last minute duties as Bram joined his comrades. He spent a few minutes memorizing their faces, since they were the men who would risk their lives to free the world from tyranny. At least, that's how they would think of it. They still knew nothing about the true danger of the sunstones—or the Ahrimen—and would never understand the full extent of their valor that day.

Bram watched as the airships approached, and his heart sank. They did not slow their advance or establish a perimeter, but instead pressed forward at full speed. As soon as they were within range, the first wave of ballistae fired their mammoth cast-iron projectiles. Black magic guided them with added strength and accuracy, splitting the hulls of several smaller airships with direct hits. Trails of smoke remained in the air as burning masses crashed into the nearby hills.

A thunderous series of booms reverberated off the city's stone walls as black wizards manipulated the weather. Lightning forked across the skyline, filling the air with the acrid smell of ozone. The Koban soldiers gripped their weapons until their knuckles turned white, fearing the launch of firebombs and deployment of ground troops if any of the airships crossed over the city walls.

In spite of the destruction of much of their fleet, Angkor pushed forward brazenly. The airships made no change in their tactics, even as ballistae and wizards shot them down. A bead of cold sweat dripped down Bram's cheek as he realized that Angkor intended to push through with brute force. Whoever led the invasion would throw forth as many ships as it took, with no regard for the casualties on board. Bram gritted his teeth in anger. The men on those ships might have been his enemy, but they were also once his kinsmen—and someone was intentionally putting them in harm's way!

The Kobans put all their might into reloading the ballistae, their sallow faces drenched from the effort. The black wizards pushed their spell-casting to the limit, swaying as their magic sapped more from their bodies than they were capable of withstanding. A collective breath caught each time an airship came within range, followed by a unified exhale whenever the same airship descended in a trail of smoke. As much as the Kobans struggled to keep pace, Bram knew that Angkor had enough ships to succeed. They had come prepared for this tactic. Sure enough, the first of their fleet crossed the threshold into the city, poised to unleash its fury.

Fire and rock rained from overhead as the airship dropped its firebombs—the first of many. The white wizards cast protective barriers around the soldiers, but it did not stop the nearby buildings from receiving the brunt of the blasts. Bram jumped out of the way, just in time to avoid a broken wall that collapsed a few spans away.

Amid the confusion, the airships deployed the first wave of ground troops. Armored men jumped from high above the city, guided down by dark conduits of magic resembling slender waterspouts. They landed safely on the ground with weapons drawn.

Bram was familiar with this technique, but he did not anticipate what followed. Among the human soldiers were spawn—goblins, ogres, and other demi-races bearing Angkorian weapons and armor. The City Defenders fell back in an instinctive mixture of confusion and repugnance.

"What manner of dark sorcery is this?" one man demanded, fear evident in his shaky voice. "Spawn now fight alongside the enemy? What do we do?"

"We fight back!" Bram shouted. "And we triumph! No matter what magic brings these beasts to battle, we'll destroy them and claim victory!"

With a war cry, he leapt into the fray, swinging his sword at an approaching goblin. It attempted to parry with its short sword, but Bram's Gnostic blade cleaved right through it, followed by the creature's head. Dark ooze sprayed from the neck stump as the body fell to the ground. Bram's act ignited the morale of the Koban soldiers, and they took his lead. They seemed to forget the monstrous nature of their enemy, and instead downed them one target at a time. The spawn fell easily, but the Angkorian elite human soldiers were better trained. Bram took these units on himself.

His swordplay was masterful as he faced multiple opponents at once, dancing from one enemy to the next, switching between front and flank. His sword weaved as he shifted forms, parrying one target while delivering a fatal strike against another. He kept his mind alert, using the enchantments on his armor to keep one step ahead. As he ended the life of his last victim, he heard cheers erupt from the crowd. Taking a step back, he saw dozens of bodies in heaps along the street. The enemy appeared to have been vanquished.

"No … it's not over yet!" he shouted, but his voice was drowned out by cheers and acclamations. He knew the Angkorian forces would not have succumbed so easily.

Sure enough, the warmth of the rising sun disappeared from his face as an object of immeasurable size appeared above him. He watched in horror as a galleon-class airship materialized and started moving toward the palace. Frightened murmurs trickled through the crowd as a shadow of pure dread fell upon them. The Kobans scrambled to load one last projectile onto the ballistae, while the black wizards closed their eyes to concentrate on one final spell. Unfortunately, these attacks bounced harmlessly off of the ship's impenetrable armor.

"Damn it!" Bram cursed, realizing that all the other airships had been meant as a distraction. It all helped to pave a clear path for the mother-ship.

"Gaia, help us!" one of the soldiers cried.

Bram's heart sank. Only a handful of men had been left to defend the palace gates. Based on his own advice, Koba had positioned their largest forces to defend the city walls. Angkor was never supposed to have made it past.

Bram thought of his friends, who had volunteered to defend Zhao Peng and the sunstone. Quon and Józef had their own warriors, but they would not be nearly enough to deal with the manpower and weaponry of a galleon-class airship. Even worse, Uriana was with the emperor. If Angkor reached them, they would not stand a chance!

Frustrated, Bram wrestled with the challenge of being on the other side of the city—at least twenty minutes away if he sprinted. There was nothing he could do but to start bolting in that direction at full speed. His blood churned through his body, driving his muscles, fueled by the hope that the defenses would hold until he arrived. His tendons burned, but he pushed himself with every ounce of strength and stamina. There was no doubt, no hesitancy—only supreme focus to reach his destination in time! His ears pounded with the blood that beat behind them. He was so distracted that he almost missed it when someone unexpectedly called out from his side.

"Bram!"

He stopped short, wondering where Rosa's voice had come from. He looked to the side, and there she stood, reaching out for him. He wanted to reach back, but he faltered. He braced himself against a nearby wall, drawing in shallow breaths, his body completely sapped of strength. He sucked in a lung full of air as he felt Rosa's white magic upon him. The fatigue slowly melted, and he felt more rejuvenated than ever.

"I came as soon as I saw the galleon-class airship," she explained. "That was the Juggernaut, wasn't it?"

Bram nodded. "We must get to the palace before they do!"

Rosa extended her arm. "I'll use my magic. Grab on!"

Bram took a deep breath as he folded his gauntlet over her delicate white sleeve. In moments, the streets ahead of him approached without his feet needing to move. Several blocks of buildings whizzed by his periphery. The avenues blurred, wrapping around and encapsulating him and Rosa in a virtual tunnel. It lasted only seconds, and then the surrounding objects returned to normal, becoming buildings and streets once more. The palace gates stood before them.

"Rosa, that was incredible!"

She beamed enthusiastically. "Uriana showed me how to do it, along with a few other handy spells—on our way to the city." Her euphoric expression descended into dourness. "We must keep her safe, Bram. I don't care what else happens."

Bram understood, even though he knew that the danger would be everywhere if Angkor ever gathered all four sunstones. He needed to succeed not just for Uriana, but for all of Gaia.

He took Rosa's hand and ran toward the gates, removing his helm so the guards would recognize him. The thick iron plates protecting the entrance slowly slid to the side as he approached, and shut behind him as he entered. Józef's Kitezhians and Quon's Kenju ran to meet him.

"What in the Burning Pits is that thing?" Józef cried, pointing to the flying goliath that was quickly consuming the sky above the palace.

"It's the Juggernaut, a galleon-class airship," Bram explained. "Angkor threw their entire fleet at our defenses, just to give it a clear path to the palace."

"How do we defeat it?" Quon pressed. "Even if we shot it down, it would crash into the city and cause immeasurable damage!"

Bram shook his head. "Rest assured that mere Koban weaponry won't breach its hull. Fortunately, I don't think they'll open fire."

Józef's eyes were filled with fear. "How can you be so sure? When Angkor came to Rungholt, they left our palace in ruins!"

"This is different, Your Majesty," Bram assured. "When they attacked Rungholt, they planned to occupy the city, so they needed to shut down the government completely. But this time, they've cleared a straight path to the sunstone. If they deploy the Juggernaut's weapons, they'll have to sort through the wreckage, which would take far too long for Richard. Therefore, I believe they'll launch a ground assault, and attempt to break through the front gates."

"Just how many men do you think they can deploy?" Quon asked with a raised brow. "Will they really succeed by sending ground troops from above, when we have the defensive advantage?"

Bram lowered his head. "They have a secret weapon … spawn. We fought them at the gate, and they're expendable. Angkor will deploy them first to wear us down, and then send the human troops to finish us off."

"What?" Józef squeaked. "How is that possible?"

Bram shook his head. "I don't know … most likely another power of the sunstones. Either way, we must act quickly. They'll be here in moments!"

Quon's lips tightened. "What else can we do?"

Bram met the Kenju's gaze. There was no easy way to say it, but Bram knew there was only one way to prevent Angkor from achieving their goal. "Allow Rosa and me to take the sunstone out of the city. It doesn't stand a chance here, but we can evade Angkor long enough to find a more permanent solution."

Quon frowned. Bram knew his suggestion went against Zhao Peng's wishes, and the Kenju Master clearly struggled with it. "You heard the emperor, Bram."

"Do you have any other ideas?" the knight challenged. "Would you risk King Richard gaining access to a _third_ sunstone? We don't have much time!"

The Kenju gritted his teeth. His eyes squeezed shut, as if frantically searching for another option. "Fine," he stated at last, his expression clearly unhappy over the concession. "Get inside and tell the emperor what you told me. I will defend the gates long enough to give you time."

Bram nodded and held out his hand to Józef. "Come on."

Józef glared at him. "I will not abandon my post! I am committed to my role in this mission!"

Bram understood why Józef wanted to prove his bravery, but the fear in the heir's eyes was plain to a Gnostic who had witnessed so many dreadful scenes during the War. The boy-king was green to battle, and would never survive a full assault. Bram needed to convince him.

"The people of Koba have seen your valor, Your Majesty, but you must remember your own people. You're no good to Kitezh if you're killed in battle. Besides, if the enemy breaches the gates, we'll be the last defense between them and the sunstone. We can't leave the emperor on his own."

Józef hesitated, but eventually caved. He called his men close and told half of them to defend the gates. Together with the emperor's personal guard and Quon's Kenju, forty stood in defense of Tiahuanaco's last bastion. All were trained veterans, annealed by the fires of combat. Józef's remaining Kitezhians joined their king, along with Bram and Rosa.

As they headed toward the palace gates, the shadow of the Juggernaut fell over them. The galleon-class airship had arrived. The first wave of creatures transported to the surface. As Bram had anticipated, spawn composed the initial strike force. Fortunately, these monsters lacked in intelligence what they made up for in strength and brutality.

Besides the goblins and ogres, there were also venomous serpents and beasts with sharp horns and teeth. Bram cut his way through the courtyard to the palace gates, while Józef's men ran ahead to pull open the heavy outer doors. Bram kept the entrance defended, while Rosa backed him up with her magic. She cast spells of magical force that knocked the creatures off their feet, while Bram delivered the kill—a highly efficient team.

He drew his sword from the chest of a mountain troll when he saw a clear path inside the palace. Rosa and he dashed inside, and the Kitezhians shut the door behind them, bolting it shut with a thick iron latch. It would keep the enemy out for the time being, but not for long. There were other ways inside, so Bram wasted no time running through the grand foyer on his way to the sunstone's chamber. The others followed closely behind.

His destination was the remainder of an old Gaian temple, which had once existed before the emperor's palace was built around it. Originally, the Ancient Minoans had built similar temples all over the world, but in modern times, people no longer worshiped the Goddess. Even so, the sunstones were still kept inside, a tradition borne from a time when they had once been revered along with the Mother of the planet. A long stairwell in the center of the palace led down to the old shrine.

The emperor's personal guard met Bram and the others at the bottom, quickly ushering them inside. The temple was cross-shaped, with each end representing one of the four sunstones. Inside, a large nave was supported by wide marble columns, stretching upward to a huge dome. Gold-inlaid mosaics decorated all surfaces, displaying artful whispy patterns. Zhao Peng met them in the room's center, a gnarled old hand laying gently atop Uriana's shoulder.

"Sir Knight," the emperor called out, his voice echoing off the colorfully patterned walls, "must I presume your presence indicates the enemy is at the gates?"

Bram nodded somberly. "Master Nan and his Kenju still defend the entryway, along with some of King Brandt's men, but we don't have much time before they force their way inside."

Zhao shook his head slowly. "I did not believe it was possible … but now it is clear that Angkor has seized control of the sunstones' powers. And I fear there is nothing left to protect us."

"That's not true, Emperor," Bram insisted. "Rosa and I can escape with the sunstone before they reach us. Let us protect it, before it's too late!"

Zhao looked back at him, his face grave. "Sir Morrison … you know not what you ask!"

Bram intended to protest, but he was interrupted by one of Zhao's palace guards, who stood at the main entryway. "Emperor, the enemy has broken through the—"

A sharp gasp, and the guard peered down. Protruding from his gut was the end of a spear. The room stared in disbelief as the weapon was dislodged and the body slid limply to the floor. Bram heart sank as he stared at the man holding the weapon—a man dressed in a Templar's uniform. A man who had once been a dear friend.

Bram hissed a sharp command to the others. "Get into the sunstone's chamber. Now! This is _my_ battle."

"Surely you do not intend to face him alone!" Józef protested, but Bram shot him a hard look. Heir of Kitezh or not, the boy-king would not challenge this command. Under Bram's steady gaze, Józef backed down and reluctantly followed the others to the sunstone's chamber.

Left alone in the temple's nave, Bram confronted the Templar with sword drawn. "So, Kane … I knew I'd have to face you one day."

"And I knew I'd catch up to you, too, you son of a bitch!" the Templar spat. "I never thought you'd betray me, much less your king and your country. You left me for dead, and now it's time for payback!"

Rage boiled under Bram's helm. There was no way he would let this sociopath rewrite the story! "What about you? You abandoned your honor and your conscience in an attempt to murder an entire race of people! And yet you stand there, passing judgment on _me_?"

Kane swung his spear against one of the columns, sending showers of sparks to the marble floor. The envenomed Templar struck back. "So says the Paragon of Justice? You—the Gnostic Knight they called _Deathbringer _during the War? You killed Kitezhian and Koban villagers by the hundreds—all in the name of King Richard!" Kane wore a wicked grin. "I figure you must have enjoyed it, too, based on some of the stories. And yet here you are, fighting for the other side. That doesn't make you more honorable than me, Bram—it makes you a hypocrite!"

The hilt of Bram's sword dug deeply into his palm. "This isn't about choosing sides, you fool! It's about defending humanity! Do you have any idea what will happen if you gather all the sunstones in one place?"

Kane's grin widened. "More than you do, apparently. Once we succeed in harnessing the power of the Ahrimen, we'll have unleashed the greatest gift mankind has ever received—beyond the riches or power that tempt simpler men. I'm talking about _everlasting life!_"

The Templar's hubris suddenly took on new meaning. Bram was crushed to hear the empty words, suggesting Kane would trade human lives by the thousands, just for some fool promise of immortality. The Old Kane would have surely turned his weapon upon such a monster!

Bram spat in his direction. "So, you want to live forever, is that it? What makes you think you deserve such a gift?"

"Oh, Bram," Kane scoffed, "that's a purely philosophical question. Perhaps none of us _deserve_ it, but I still won't let anything stand in my way to achieve it! Certainly not you!"

Bram's sword weighed heavily in his clenched fist, but he eased just a bit when Kane looked over his shoulder toward the entryway. A Gnostic Knight stood in the archway, an unseen breeze gently blowing his cape. Upon seeing him, Kane dropped to his knees and prostrated himself. Bram was slack-jawed, unable to explain how a Knight could demand such obedience from a Templar.

"Who are you?" Bram demanded.

The knight stepped forward and removed his skull-shaped helm.

Bram took a step back, staring in disbelief. The knight sported a silver-colored close-cut beard, shaped to the jawline, but could have otherwise passed for Bram's identical twin.

"Wha—?" Bram's tongue surrendered to the impossibility of what his eyes were seeing.

"At last we meet, Abraham," the Gnostic stated with a deep voice that carried and air of confidence and authority. "For now, you may call me Samuel."

Bram pulled himself out of his trance and resumed his crushing grip on his sword's hilt. "What have you done to Kane? You've bewitched him, haven't you? He's nothing like the man I remember!"

"And you think I'm responsible?" Samuel asked. "Kane serves me because I've revealed the truth to him. His obedience arises from neither fear nor magical influence, but rather from loyalty, borne out of honor and respect."

Kane rose to his feet. "My Lord, I know our time is short. Please allow me to strike him down, so that we may obtain the sunstone."

Samuel turned the corner of his mouth upward, almost wide enough to bear his teeth. "Very well, let it be your first test."

The Templar readied his spear. "You have nowhere to run this time, _dear friend_."

Bram scowled, raising his sword to challenge the abomination standing before him. The boy that Bram remembered—the one he had trusted with his life and wanted by his side more than anything—was murdered by _this_ _Gnostic!_ Whether from honeyed words or by Kane's own greedy choices, the boy he knew was dead. There was no truer friend, but somehow, Kane's light was extinguished, leaving behind a dark and twisted husk … a mockery that had to be destroyed!

"Nor do you," Bram said through clenched teeth, burying his doubts and hesitance in a place where they would have no hold over him. Something cried out from inside, begging him to reach out to his friend, but he pushed the thought aside.

Two blinks later, the Templar had crossed the room and was mid-swing with his enchanted spear. Bram parried and quickly sidestepped, creating a clash that littered the air with crackling golden sparks. His anger filled his dark sword with symbiotic energy, turning the blade a deep purple that glowed with his own enmity.

Kane ran at him again, arching his back in time to dodge Bram's slash. He used his own momentum to spin around, striking Bram against his back before he had a chance to react. Jolts of pain fired throughout Bram's body, but he ignored them. He rolled forward, quickly bolting upright to land on his feet.

He swung his sword, just in time to defend against another blow. The clash of the two enchanted weapons sent arcs of electrical energy across the wide open nave. Bram thrust his sword upward, but Kane jumped straight up. His agility was inhuman, possibly an effect of the sunstone. While in the air, he swung his spear against a stone column, cutting right through it! Bram dashed out of the way as chunks of marble and mortar around the transept tumbled downward. With one of the buttresses destroyed, a plume of stone and dust billowed down from the dome in the middle of the ceiling. Bram knew he had to turn the tables fast, before Kane caused the entire temple to collapse in on itself!

All the while, Samuel stood on the sidelines, arms crossed and watching. He did not interfere, nor did he flinch as the rock and mortar exploded all around him. His expression was blank and calculating—the true enemy, Bram knew. He must have had the power of one of the sunstones to give him strength, but Bram could not get close enough to strike. He needed to get past Kane, first.

Thinking to fake out his old friend, Bram parried with his sword while sticking out his leg. As Kane thrust his spear forward, Bram bent his knees and sank to the floor. Unable to lose momentum, Kane tripped. Bram returned to his feet, tackling Kane from behind. In one continuous motion, he bashed Kane's head into the floor and kicked away his spear.

"Disappointing," Samuel muttered from the side of the room.

Bram was ready to finish what he started with Kane, when he saw Samuel unsheathe his sword. The blade was different from other Gnostics', glowing with untold enchantments, outshining Bram's weapon by several orders. Bram turned away from Kane's limp body to confront his true enemy.

He took the first shot, hoping to catch Samuel off guard. As quick as lightning, the Knight matched Bram's motion, and a thunderclap of magic erupted. Dust rose up from the floor, covering the chamber in a blinding haze of powdered marble. Bram jumped aside, hacking on fine-grained particles of stone and clay. As the haze cleared, he saw the true strength of Samuel's attack. Bram's own Gnostic sword lay shattered in pieces on the ground.

He could not believe his own eyes. Never before had he seen a force capable of breaking through darksteel. His fist still clenched around the useless shaft, which he gawked at with dumbstruck eyes. He threw it down, backing up against one of the remaining stone columns. Having regained his bearings and recovered his weapon, Kane was ready to advance. He dove forward. Bram, resigned to fate, closed his eyes. Not even a moment later, a bright white flash erupted, followed by a crash.

Bram peeked one eye open to find Kane once again incapacitated, sprawled on the ground in front of a dented column. Rosa had emerged from the sunstone's chamber, the incantation of a spell on her lips. While Kane shook his head to clear the stars, she helped Bram to his feet and stood ready with her magic.

Nearby, Samuel threw back his head and laughed. The same hollow voice cackled condescendingly. "Twice this trash has defeated you, Kane."

Rosa turned to meet the Gnostic Knight, readying the gestures of a new spell. She waved her hands toward Samuel, but he deflected it effortlessly. He uttered his own words of power, and Bram watched as the most cherished treasure in his life fell to the floor in deep slumber.

"No!" he yelled, utterly helpless. He ran toward Samuel with his bare hands, ready to wrestle him to the floor if need be, but his muscles seized up. All over his body, his skin was jabbed by the cold pinpricks of magic. His body froze, paralyzed in mid-stride.

"So," Samuel spoke, "this woman is important to you. I could utter a word and destroy her—"

"Wait!" a voice shouted. To the side, Kane waved his hands pleadingly. "Don't kill her. We can use her."

"She'll be your responsibility," Samuel told him, coldly and patronizing, like a parent instructing a child who had just acquired a new pet.

"I'll take her to the ship," Kane promised.

"Very well," Samuel agreed. "Go, and I'll meet up with you shortly."

Kane did as he was told, and Bram watched his once-best friend take away the woman he loved. He tried to move, but his muscles were concrete, held fast by Samuel's magic. Tears of anger and frustration flowed from his weary eyes as he strained every fiber of his being.

"Come this way, Abraham," Samuel instructed. Like a puppet on strings, Bram's muscles obeyed the Knight's magic. He tried with all his might to fight it, but he had no hope against the power of a sunstone. Bram knew he had been defeated, but all that mattered at that moment was to know the identity of the man who looked so much like him.

"Who are you, really?" he demanded, surprised to hear that his voice still worked. Meanwhile, his body walked forward, obeying Samuel's silently uttered words of magic. "And what kind of _truth_ did you tell Kane to earn his loyalty?"

Samuel paused his chanting to briefly answer. "There will be time for questions later. First, we will retrieve the sunstone and return to Angkor."

The chanting commenced, but Bram pressed on. "Why me? What stops you from doing it yourself?"

Samuel grinned. "Nice try."

"But why not another man, instead?" Bram pressed. "You must need _me_ in particular."

Samuel stopped in his tracks. He said nothing, but Bram detected a hint of displeasure from the Knight's expression, suggesting Bram was on the right track.

He continued. "Earlier, you greeted me as if you knew all about me—and I'm not blind to our resemblance. Are we … related by blood? Is this … somehow personal?"

The Knight glared at him, his dark eyes intense but just as hollow as his voice. "Obey, and all shall be revealed. But for now, it would be better if you remained ignorant."

Ignorant or not, Bram had no intention of obeying. But he knew he had to stall—anything to protect the third sunstone! "What are you going to do to Rosa?"

Samuel chuckled. "You might ask Kane that question. She's of no interest to me, but perhaps your _old_ _friend_ wishes to get to know her more … _intimately_."

Bram's entire body shook in fury. That Samuel would dare to jest at such a thing … _no!_ He quickly wiped the thought from his mind, veins bursting with rage! He struggled against the compulsion magic, but it held him tightly. "_Bastard!_ The moment you let down your guard, I will _kill you!_"

"Enough!" Samuel's voice boomed, his eyes aflame. "My patience is worn thin. Walk this way!"

Bram had no control as his body entered the sunstone's chamber. He felt humiliated as he saw the watchful eyes of Józef, Zhao, and others. Some of the Kitezhians unsheathed their swords, but Bram urged them to put their weapons away.

"Don't," he pleaded. "He's much too powerful, but I'll think of something, I swear!"

In the center of the room sat a glass tabletop. On top stood the sunstone, its clear quartz-life surface like any ordinary gemstone, making Bram almost forget that the fearsome power of an Ahriman rested within it. He held out his hand to grab hold when a voice stopped him.

"No, don't touch it!" Despite Samuel's influence, Bram halted when he heard Uriana's sweet voice. Zhao had attempted to hide the young Conjurion behind him, but she slipped past. A deep and crippling panic overcame Bram's body as he feared for her safety. It would have left him weak in the knees, had it not been for Samuel's magic.

"Stand back, Yuri," he pleaded. "Listen to me, and back away! I must do this."

Bram hoped to keep the child's powers hidden, but Samuel was already enthralled. "What's this? I sense powerful magic from this child. No—_incredible_ magic! And something else …."

"Don't touch her!" Bram threatened, grinding his teeth, his muscles bulging as his willpower clashed with the force of Samuel's sunstone.

The Gnostic ignored him. He bent down, extending his gauntleted hand toward Uriana. She stepped backward, and a light began to glow from beneath her shirt. Against Bram's protests, Samuel reached out and grabbed the child by her wrist. He pulled her close, using his other hand to expose a silver chain around her neck. The dark stone at the end of the chain pulsated with energy, radiating power that rattled Bram's bones. He realized it reacted in the presence of the Koban sunstone, which beat with the same light. Samuel regarded them both with hungry eyes.

Uriana struggled to free herself, crying out in fear and confusion. But Samuel tightened his grip, pulling her closer.

"_No!_"

Bram jerked and heaved, driven by his need to protect Uriana. Her imminent danger drove new strength and resolve into his body, allowing him to wrench free from Samuel's spell of compulsion. Turning to the nearest soldier, he drew the man's sword from its sheath. Before Samuel could react, Bram plunged it between the armored plates of the Knight's left shoulder.

Samuel howled in rage, releasing his grip on the child. She ran back to Emperor Zhao, who stood in front of her defiantly. Samuel spun around to face Bram directly, chanting in words of arcane magic. He stretched out his fingers, sending forks of lightning surging through Bram's body, boiling him from the inside. Incredible heat fried muscles and organs, vaporizing every drop of blood.

"Daddy!"

Through red blurry vision, Bram saw Uriana step forward. A bright golden hue surrounded her as she bent the shards of lightning back toward Samuel. He ended his chant before the spell backfired, looking furious—or perhaps desperate—Bram could not be sure.

Uriana had saved him. He fell to his knees, smoke tumbling out of his armor. Every single nerve screamed in agony. His vision was dying. He saw Samuel grab the sunstone. Fingers wrapped around it, infecting it with a deep and menacing red. A final chuckle. Samuel passed by. Out of the room. Bram's eyelids felt heavy … too tired to watch anymore. Darkness descended. Deathbringer welcomed it.


	66. Chapter 5: Part XIV

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* * *

**Part XIV**

_Evening of Terminus, Fourteenth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Samuel Cortez headed for his cabin as soon as he boarded the Juggernaut. As he wound through the narrow corridors, he ordered a black wizard to construct a warp gate for Kane and the female. He did not have the patience to deal with any other matters, and he burned with embarrassment. His perfect plans had been laid to waste because of that wretched child! He had let his concentration sway for an instant, and his brother had managed to get the upper hand. Sadly, he would not get another chance to capture Abraham alive.

But the girl … she had such wondrous powers, such marvelous dormant abilities! How had Abraham first met with her? He wondered … the stone around her neck must be the key! The way it reacted in the presence of the sunstone could only mean one thing. Somehow, the child had come to possess a powerful artifact—a _moonstone_.

He had been so close to retrieving this prize, but it had slipped from his grasp! He cursed loudly. Having arrived in his room, he put the Koban sunstone on a small oak dresser. It was not the only one. He had been carrying a second sunstone, too, which he still kept inside a small satchel under his shirt. He hesitated to remove it, understanding the danger of handling two sunstones at once. As for the Koban stone, it had been beating with a blood-red color just moments earlier, but now was once again clear and lifeless. He looked at it nervously, hoping it was not too late.

He removed his dark armor and undressed to inspect his wound. Fortunately, the Kitezhian blade had not been infused with dark magic, or else the poison would have already left him as good as dead. Still, the sword had cut deep, severing muscles and tendons. The pain was especially sharp whenever he twisted his shoulder, but at least the wound had clotted. He would require healing soon before the flesh scarred.

_"Cortez_ …."

From somewhere in the room, a voice called out to him. Samuel cast a spell to search for intruders, but found none.

The sound of laughter filled the air. _ "Cortez …_."

Samuel knew this voice. He faced the sunstone, which had again assumed the color of fire. A life beat within it, and the voice invaded his mind.

So … there was no longer any doubt. He had indeed erred in the worst way possible. The first sunstone he carried had already established a connection with one Ahriman, but the Koban sunstone represented a second. He had been warned never to make physical contact with two at once, but without his brother to perform the transport, Samuel had no other choice—and had inadvertently broken the most fundamental of rules.

_"Cortez, you've been marked … and I know what you are_."

Samuel threw on a tunic and left the room. He knew to expect Belial's temptations, but it was too early to confront the Ahriman. He would need to prepare himself first. For now, he headed for the ship's medical bay, so that the white wizards could treat his wounds.


	67. Chapter 5: Part XV

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* * *

**Part XV**

_Afternoon of Denuo, Seventeenth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Bram awoke to a pleasant melody: the strings of a lute, played in a gentle artistic prose. A soft breeze from an open window blew scents of burning logs to his nose, reminding him of late autumn mornings in his farming village of Providence, when the colder temperatures prompted people to warm their hearths. He raised his eyelids slightly, only to see the dark and blurry shapes of people moving around his bedside. He tried moving his arms, but they felt bruised and sore. He uttered a small grunt.

The lovely notes dispersed, and the person-shadows quickly gathered around him.

"He has awoken!" an eager voice sounding like Józef exclaimed.

"Praise to Gaia," someone else responded—must have been Emperor Zhao.

Bram opened his eyes a bit more, and his friends came into focus. A shape at the foot of his bed approached and gave him a hug. It was Uriana.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," she said in her tenderest voice.

Memories flooded back as his mind fully awoke—a battle against the Angkorian fleet, the passing shadow of the Juggernaut, an emotional battle with Kane, Rosa's abduction, and the mysterious Gnostic Knight named Samuel. He remembered the spell of lightning that had almost killed him. If not for Uriana, his body would have been incinerated. She had called him Daddy ….

"Come here," he said, his throat raw and his voice hoarse. He opened his arms and allowed her to nestle up close to his chest. "I'm glad to see you too, Yuri."

Józef passed Bram a glass of water, which he was happy to drink. "She never left your side," the heir seemed pleased to report.

"She is a brave and powerful little girl," Zhao echoed.

"What happened?" Bram asked, still disoriented. He shifted in bed to get a more comfortable position for his aching back. "Did the Gnostic escape with the sunstone?"

Zhao sighed and shook his head dejectedly. "I am afraid so. He took the sunstone and disappeared, along with the Templar and … and some of our brave soldiers as well." Zhao choked on the last words.

"Which soldiers?" Bram asked, worried about Zhao's reaction. But the emperor withdrew to a corner of the room, where he stared out of a window overlooking the city.

"Master Nan is missing," Józef explained in a low voice. "As you know, he and the emperor were good friends, and Zhao has taken it pretty hard. It was not just Quon, either. Most of the Kenju were transported back to the Juggernaut before it flew off. We know that Quon was among them, because we examined the dead and have already accounted for the missing."

Bram heard Zhao sobbing from the other side of the room.

"Where are we?" Bram asked.

"Inside the emperor's manor house," Józef responded. "The palace is closed, and Koban investigators are trying to reconstruct the scene, to see what else we can learn." The heir's expression turned grave. "Unfortunately, we have little hope of finding anything useful."

Bram let out a saddened breath. He stroked Uriana's hair as Józef caught him up on all he had missed—but his mind was so preoccupied with Rosa's capture that he hardly listened. The scene replayed in his mind. A stab through the heart as his best friend pledged his allegiance to a fantasy of everlasting life, a powerful Gnostic with a face nearly identical to Bram's own, wielding incredible power, and his life's greatest treasure stolen away while he looked blankly at his shattered sword. He was heartbroken, and Józef's words were nothing but a meaningless buzz in his ear.

Even so, he caught on to the fact that he had been unconscious for three days. He felt a wave of nausea for a few moments while the realization fully sank in. The sunstone was gone, Rosa and Quon were missing, and he had been unconscious the whole time. He wanted to weep, but his mind was in shock. The mounting bad news left him listless.

"You were in pretty bad shape after that Gnostic Knight cast his spell on you," Józef continued. "I thought for sure you were dead, but Yuri stuck with you the whole time." The young Conjurion nestled tighter to Bram's body. He gave her a slight squeeze—the best he could muster.

"She would not even let the white wizards near you," Józef went on. "She simply sat with her arms around you with that golden glow of hers, and in a few minutes, you were breathing normally. Your face had been covered with burns, but like a miracle, they disappeared. No one can explain it—both black and white wizards marvel at her abilities. I know you would have rather had it otherwise, but she is already the talk of the city."

Bram looked at the child who had saved his life, who wanted nothing in return except his affection. But why him? He did not deserve her love. Like so many children before her, his deeds as a Gnostic Knight had resulted in the death of her true parents. His actions had left her orphaned and alone … how could she ever see him as anything other than a monster?

She looked up, staring into his eyes, as if waiting for him to say something. He felt he had to oblige.

"Thank you, Yuri," he muttered. Hollow. It was heartfelt, truly sincere, but not nearly enough. Perhaps nothing was enough to atone for what he had done.

She smiled. "I'm glad you didn't touch the sunstone."

Bram remembered Uriana's warning while he was under Samuel's compulsion spell. "Why was I not supposed to touch it?" he asked.

"Because of Belial," she explained, looking sullen. "He wanted you. He wanted you to touch it, but I wouldn't let him!"

"Belial?" a curious Józef inquired. "As in, the Ahriman named Belial?"

Uriana nodded, her eyes glazed with fear.

Bram's nausea swelled again in the pit of his gut, and his skin prickled with gooseflesh. "So you're saying if I had touched the sunstone, Belial would have controlled me?"

Uriana's lip quivered, and she looked absolutely terrified. She was almost on the verge of tears when Bram took her back in his arms. "It's all right, Yuri. You don't have to worry about it anymore."

She buried her face in his chest, and he held her close.

"What about that Gnostic Knight?" Józef asked, out of the blue.

"I don't know any more about him than you do—other than that his name is Samuel."

Bram continued to comfort Uriana, but it was clear she had nothing more to say. Meanwhile, he recalled the Knight's words: _It would be better if you remained ignorant_. There was something ominous beyond just the obvious reference to information about the sunstones. Perhaps Samuel was a long lost family member who knew about Bram's birth mother and father. Perhaps the Knight's motives were personal. He had also implied something else … that he needed Bram to transport the sunstone. Was his plan to use Bram as a vessel for the Ahriman, just like King Richard? Bram's skin prickled again as he considered that possibility.

"But he looked just like you," Józef pressed. "He could have been your brother."

The former Gnostic pulled himself out of his daydream to respond. "I grew up with foster parents and never knew my blood family. If Samuel is truly my brother, it was the first time I'd actually met him."

"But you are both Gnostics," Józef argued. "You must be familiar with others from your order."

Bram took a deep breath, his sore chest feeling constricted. "The Gnostic Knighthood is not a centralized society, despite what people might think. Each of us reports directly and independently to King Richard, so it's not unusual for some Knights to have never met the others."

"Sir Morrison," Zhao called out from his exile in the room's corner. His words stole Bram's attention. "About the pendant around Uriana's neck. The Knight seemed to take a profound interest in it."

Uriana looked up at hearing her name. Bram took hold of the silver chain, peering deeply into the dark stone at the end of it. It had reacted in the presence of the sunstone, which meant it had to be something special.

Bram let out an exasperated breath. "I wish I knew … but right now it looks like just an ordinary stone." He lowered his head despondently. "I feel so ignorant about the powers at work here. What about you, Emperor? As a sunstone protector, isn't there anything more you can tell us?"

Zhao shook his head. "I am sorry, but I already told you everything I know. Knowledge from the Enchantment comes in the form of feelings and memories. It is not the same as listening to an expert, or reading information in a textbook. However, I can reveal that I felt a very familiar power when Samuel wielded his magic. I believe he may have been using one of the sunstones to enhance his spells."

Bram nodded. "I believe so, too. There are more Knights these days training in the Black Arts, but none with the kind of power we saw from Samuel. Rosa attempted to cast an anti-magic field around him, but he cast it aside effortlessly—and she's one of the most powerful white wizards I know. Even if Samuel received instruction from a master wizard, his powers were still too great to be explained by raw talent. We should assume he used a sunstone to enhance his power."

"But what about the Ahriman?" Józef argued. "Wouldn't using the sunstone put him at risk of being controlled?"

"That is not necessarily the case," Zhao corrected. "The Ahrimen will begin to assert control if someone overuses the sunstone, but Samuel must have calculated that he could wield the power of one sunstone temporarily, and avoid the long term consequences."

"But there's one thing that Samuel didn't count on," Bram broke in.

"And that would be?" Józef asked.

Bram explained. "Samuel implied that he needed me to transport the Koban sunstone for him. He didn't explain why, but it could have been because he was already using a different sunstone. It's possible that handling two at once would have made him more vulnerable to the Ahrimen."

"But he ended up taking the sunstone anyway," Józef reminded.

"That's right," Bram agreed, "but only out of desperation. When I injured him, he must have panicked. That's why he took the sunstone and ran."

"We are only guessing," Zhao argued. "In order to confront our enemy, we must be armed with more than mere speculation."

"I agree wholeheartedly, Emperor!" Bram responded. "Rosa found out about the Ahrimen from Vance's journals, and only then because she had help from her old schoolmaster, a man who happened to be Head Librarian. I considered going back in secret to search the Archives for more information, but without Rosa's help, I wouldn't know where to begin. And besides, it's much too dangerous to sneak into Angkor right now."

"What about the Great Library?" Zhao suggested. "The people of Malden have long boasted that their repository measures up well against the Archives. And besides, King Brandt and I met earlier with the Grand Council, and they suggested sending representatives to the nations of the Southern Continent to enlist them as allies. I think you should be one of these representatives, Mister Morrison. While in Malden, you can also search for information about the Ahrimen."

Bram tried sitting up, but his abdomen ached. "I'm still a bit sore, but since it's a long trip by sea, I'll have plenty of time to heal."

"Then we can count on your continued assistance?" Zhao asked.

"Of course, Emperor. I would like Uriana to come with me, and I assume Józef will want to join, too?"

"Actually, Bram," the heir responded, "I intend to return to Rungholt. A ship entered the harbor this morning from my people. I will head home tomorrow."

Bram smiled, feeling uplifted by the first piece of good news. "Then Kitezh must have successfully liberated themselves from Angkor's occupation!"

"It would seem so," Józef concluded happily. "My immediate return has been requested."

Bram nodded. "I understand, my friend. I wish you good blessings in rebuilding your country."

"Thank you, Bram. I am certain our paths will cross again. My priorities will include building alliances. Just as in the Omega War, we must combine the efforts of all the kingdoms on Gaia before we can stop the Ahrimen. We do not have much time, so I plan to start the process as soon as I return."

"I'll leave tomorrow as well," Bram decided. "Fully recovered or not, I've already slept for three days. It's time we moved forward. The sooner we reach Malden, the better."

"Then we are agreed," Zhao concluded by clasping his hands together. "I will make the necessary preparations. You shall have our fastest and most reliable sailors leading the expedition. Are you certain about your health?"

Bram nodded. "I'll be ready."

"Then your ship will be ready, too, Sir Morrison. May the blessings of Gaia be with you."

* * *

**End of Chapter 5**

_Dear Visitors, I offer you deep thanks for reaching this point in my story!_

_Please take a minute to leave a few words in a review,_

_It means so much to me to hear from my readers._

_Graciously yours, __~Jeff Howard~_

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_._


	68. Chapter 6: Part I

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**Chapter 6: Return Home**

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**Part I**

_Morning of Diapente, Twentieth Day of Autumnmoon_

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It was the third morning of Bram's voyage to the Southern Continent. He sat upon the deck of a large Koban merchant vessel, just as the tiniest fragments of light appeared on the eastern horizon. He laid back, propped up by one of the ship's masts.

Inside his arms he cradled a sleeping Uriana. While holding her, he gazed vacantly upon the vastness of the Great Ocean. He watched the relentless currents—hypnotized by the heaves and frothing bubbles—rhythmically oscillating, synchronized, to the unceasing gyrations of an unseen muse.

He imagined the ship as a puppet, a minuscule pile of sticks that obeyed the whims of the Sea. It went no faster than the waters allowed, driven instead by the impulsiveness of a divine might. Bram sympathized with the Koban brig, yet it felt appropriate to be aboard its wooden planks—a man whose destiny was beholden to a similar inescapable fate.

Emperor Zhao Peng had hand-picked the vessel's captain, a sun-tanned south-Koban man with weather-worn features and a week-long stubble. He committed—or more likely, had been ordered—to take Bram to the city of Tanis in the nation of Malden, home of the Great Library. Once there, the knight hoped to discover the knowledge of how to confront the fearsome powers of the Ahrimen.

At the same time, it felt like a hopeless errand. Unlike Rosa, he was no scholar. He had once hoped to return with her to Angkor to piece together more clues from Vance's journals—but without her, Bram had little chance of discovering anything useful on his own.

Even worse, his skills as a Knight had failed him. In spite of all his training and experience, he had been powerless to save his most cherished treasure. Rosa had been subdued by the Gnostic Knight, known only as Samuel. The man who looked so much like Bram had surely utilized a sunstone to augment his strength in black magic. Now he had two. Rosa never stood a chance taking him on with that kind of strength.

Of course, thoughts of Bram's lost love naturally led to memories of his childhood friend. According to Samuel, Kane's servitude was borne from trust and loyalty—a claim that Bram would never accept! No promise of immortality could have ever swayed the younger Kane to forsake his moral code. The Templar had once been like a big brother, helping Bram through the difficult times of growing up as an orphaned child. Kane had been a role model, always stepping forward to do the right thing, especially when Bram needed him the most.

Though Bram's parents had been good-natured surrogates, they were mere villagers without the means or education to raise a gifted child. But Kane was Bram's elder by two years. He played a critical role of friend and mentor, guiding Bram through the trials of maturity. Without Kane's help, Bram would have never left the farm fields.

Long ago, Bram had thought about quitting school, as he was the victim of relentless bullying. Only by borrowing from Kane's strength and support was he able to endure. Later, when Bram fell short of being able to afford tuition for the Academy, Kane helped him to secure a part-time job in Niedam. With all that had happened over the past few weeks, Bram wanted the Old Kane back by his side more than anything! Sadly, the man he once knew was gone forever, replaced with an abhorrent facsimile.

As Bram reminisced, he ran his fingers through Uriana's white hair. The child from Ur slept peacefully in his arms, her face buried in his civilian clothes. He was grateful to have her nearby, as her presence kept him from wandering thoughts. Despair's Temptation seemed close at hand, sometimes. Tanis was still weeks away, but Bram felt anxious for something to happen. So he waited for it—whatever it was—his mind drifting in and out of tormenting daydreams.

He felt small and alone, with burdens so formidable that he seemed destined to fail. He had known no such fears as a Knight, when his enemies were well-known and the plain of battle so clear. But now, in this uncertain future, doubts plagued every thought. He had molted his shell of Gnostic armor, and was now naked and exposed to the evils of the world, unable to defend against the measliest of obstacles.

The strength he had taken a lifetime to hone was no match for the dark powers of the sunstones. His enchanted sword lay in pieces in some refuse bin, while his armor reminded him of the violent acts he had done as a Knight—now a source of shame and remorse. He loathed to put it on, and instead dressed each morning in civilian clothes.

As a parting gift, Zhao Peng had given him another sword—one that had once belonged to a powerful Gnostic defeated by Wong Fei Nan, Quon's father. Having no use for it, Wong Fei had offered it to his liege as a symbol of Koba's strength. Zhao then passed it on to Bram, who had ostensibly embodied the same virtue. Bram was reluctant to accept, and even less convinced that he deserved that kind of praise. Yet, he received the sword graciously, unwilling to chance an unintended insult to the Koban emperor.

As for the blade itself, Bram kept it in a box in his cabin ever since setting sail. For one thing, it was dangerous. Only the owner of a Gnostic's sword is immune to its toxins. And beyond the physical threat, the sword threatened Bram's fundamental identity. He wanted his shattered weapon to mark the end of the Knighthood for him. He wanted neither the blade nor the armor to label him as property of the king of Angkor. And so, he tucked Zhao's gift safely away, never intending to use it in battle.

Uriana stirred in her sleep, spurring Bram out of his daydream. He grasped her hand and gently pulled the lamb's wool blanket up to her shoulders. The previous night, she had suffered through what appeared to be a harrowing nightmare. Bram had asked her about it, but she was never able to provide any coherent details. All she did was ramble on about the weakening of the world—an ominous premonition, to be sure, given her extraordinary talents—but not the first time her remarks sounded cryptic and without context. Ever since leaving Tiahuanaco, little of what she said made any sense—at least, not to Bram.

To help her sleep easier, he had decided to stay by her side. He also moved her from the cot in the cabin to the ship's deck. For some reason—perhaps due to the twinkling stars or the salty sea breeze—she seemed to sleep more soundly. As Bram nestled close, he too felt peace and comfort. For him, the steady sound of the ocean waves lulled him into a self-reflecting stupor. He dangled on the edge of consciousness, mesmerized by the ship's swaying. His head felt heavy, and he laid it next to hers, shutting his eyes. He could not say how long he had dozed, but when he awoke, it was to the impatient prodding of the ship's captain.

"I apologize for waking you, sir," the man spoke loudly enough to overcome a whirling zephyr that blew across the deck of the ship. "You must return to your cabin. The weather has worsened, and we need room to prepare the ship."

Having once captained his own vessel, Bram understood the urgency of poor weather conditions. Just thinking of the Heron made him miss it dearly.

"Come, Yuri," he coaxed the sleeping child. "We need to go back to the cabin."

"Why?" she murmured groggily.

"Nothing to worry about," he reassured her. "Just bad weather."

Looking around, however, he could not convince himself. The waves crashed menacingly against the mid-sized brig and the wind blew ferociously—strange behavior for a clear sky that should have promised a calm and peaceful morning. Nevertheless, he led Uriana below deck where she would be safe.

Once he closed the cabin door and dampened the sound of wind and waves, he propped Uriana up against a bedpost. She rubbed her eyes, yawning with a wide open mouth. "He's coming …" she mumbled.

"What did you say?" Bram asked, a chill crawling up his spine. But he received only a blank stare. "Uriana," he restated firmly, "tell me who's coming?"

"Don't you feel it?" she asked innocently.

"No." Bram knelt down beside her and took her hand. It might have been just another of her cryptic remarks, but this one stirred his insides. "We'll be safe down here."

"Don't be afraid," she answered.

Bram wanted to ask more, but the door burst open, letting in a gale force wind that drowned out his voice. The captain entered briskly, shouting above the noise.

"Sir Morrison, you must come with me at once. We have a problem, and it requires your attention."

Bram tensed, wondering what a ship of trained sailors would need from him. "Stay here, Yuri," he instructed loudly, "and do _not_ leave the cabin. I'll be back shortly. Promise me."

"I promise," she responded meekly. The wind carried away her voice, but Bram saw the words as they left her lips. Feeling satisfied, he followed the captain to the deck.

"What in the Burning Pits is going on here?" he asked. "It's a perfectly clear morning, and we're hundreds of leagues from the nearest shore. We should have smooth sailing."

"The wind and waves are of no worry to me," the man responded, "at least, not to a ship this size. The larger concern comes from a maelstrom sighted about ten cables portside. We tried changing course, but despite our efforts, we seem to be caught in its current."

Bram pondered the news, wondering if it was related to whatever Uriana was sensing. "A maelstrom would be unusual this far out to sea. Do you suppose it's magical?"

"Aye, we have never seen anything like it."

"Just how big is it?" Bram wondered.

The captain's face turned grim. "Big enough to tear the ship apart."

Bram cursed, looking around to assess the scene. "With all this wind, why can't we turn?"

"Must be the currents," the captain explained. "See for yourself. Every last one of my men tends the sails, but we are moving in the opposite direction."

"'Tis a curse, I tell you," a nearby sailor wailed as he rushed to his next task. "These waters belong to _Bake-kujira_!"

The captain sneered, waving away the man's comments. "Pay him no heed," he assured. "The crew gets superstitious every time the weather turns bad."

Bram's eyes narrowed at the captain's flippancy. Feeling suspicious, Bram prodded for more. "You called me up here for a reason, Captain. What do you think _I_ can do?"

The captain paused and licked his lips, as if searching for a tactful way to phrase his request. "Maybe … if we had some of the child's magic—"

Bram's face hardened. The captain took a step back, waving his hands defensively.

"I would not ask if there was another way," he assured. "We know about the child's powers and are desperate to try anything. If we cannot change course …."

The captain left his sentence open ended in a blatant attempt to influence a desired outcome. Bram considered giving in, but wondered if it would be fair to Uriana to use her magic so carelessly. Would it set a precedent for others to use her as a tool whenever the situation turned bleak? Still, the risk of capsizing posed a far greater threat to her safety.

"Very well," he conceded. "I'll ask for her help. But, I'd also request that you keep her gifts under a lower profile—for her own sake."

"I swear to you, my Lord." The captain bowed in thanks, leaving Bram to wonder if he had made the right choice.

When he returned to the cabin, Uriana was there waiting for him, almost enthusiastic to help. As soon as he mentioned the situation, she practically jumped, eager to return to the deck to get started.

The sailors stopped their work to give her room. Bram and the captain cleared a space for her to dance—or whatever she would do this time. Many watched in eager anticipation, hoping to witness another miracle. Word had spread of the spectacle in the Koban temple, including wildly exaggerated tales. Even so, the stories all agreed that the child could perform wonders.

Uriana faced starboard, waving her arms in a large arc. Bram saw the familiar golden energy surround her as she uttered her enchantment. Unfortunately, the glow vanished as soon as it had begun. She turned to Bram with a saddened face, and he approached her.

"I can't do it," she pouted. "He wants us to go _this way_."

"Who?" Bram questioned, fearing a reference to her earlier ominous prediction.

"You know … _him_," Uriana whined, her voice trailing off. Bram wanted a clearer answer, but there was no time. She looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"Keep trying," he encouraged. "I know you can do it, Yuri."

"I'll try …" she responded hesitantly.

Bram backed away to give her room. The golden glow returned, and she took another step toward starboard. Bram felt the ship veer to the right, but something held it back. After a moment, it jerked backward with a jolt of momentum, sending many of the sailors tumbling to the side. They reached out, grabbing onto the railings to steady themselves.

Undeterred, Uriana took another step to the right. Once again, the ship held fast, but this time the wood groaned underneath. A monstrous shriek penetrated the air, sounding like a thousand whales screeching in unison.

The sailors looked around, panicked, their faces with fearful expressions.

"Look!" one of them shouted, pointing a trembling forefinger. "Spawn!"

Bram turned to see a gargantuan tentacle rise up from the water. Its sheer size made the ship seem like a bundle of twigs.

"_Bake-kujira_!" another sailor screamed, "Leviathan of the Sea!" A series of explosions erupted as sailors fired the ship's cannons at the beast. However, none of the shots seemed to have any effect.

Without thinking, Bram ran to Uriana and grabbed her by the waist. She screamed at the ensuing chaos, clearly frightened by the hideous appendages rising from the water. Bram dragged her toward the cabin, but he never reached the door. One of the tentacles slammed against the ship, splitting the deck in two.

The next thing Bram knew, he was underwater, flailing his way to the surface. As he broke through, he looked around to get his bearings. Pieces of the ship floated nearby, but Uriana was nowhere to be found.

"Yuri!" he yelled, just as an icy cold wave dragged him once again underwater.

He fought his way upward and scrambled to get onto one of the nearby floating planks. As soon as he snagged one, he propped himself up quickly.

"Yuri!"

He took hold of a piece of broken railing to use as a paddle. The bulk of the ship still floated nearby. Some of the sailors on top of the wreckage looked frantically for a way to escape. He prayed to the Goddess that Uriana was still on board. If not, he was prepared to scale the ship's remains and use the height to search for her.

He drove his make-shift paddle into the water, but stopped as another large tentacle rose high above him. Without hesitating, it smashed down once more on the ship's remains. The surviving sailors jumped amid a swarm of rapidly flying wood and splinters.

Bram saw a particularly large chunk as it hurtled toward his head. He did not have time to react, and it swiped him—hard! Amid stars, he put a hand against the fresh wound, withdrawing a set of bloody fingers. It was not painful. Rather, he felt as if he were casually floating through the air, guided by playful trade winds on a journey high above the seas. He saw a field of brilliant stars, twinkling in the distance, much like his recent reverie with Uriana. He fell back against the plank—full of wonder, his woes forgotten—drifting aimlessly on ocean currents, drifting peacefully … into sleep.


	69. Chapter 6: Part II

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* * *

**Part II**

_Afternoon of Diapente, Twentieth Day of Autumnmoon_

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Heinz Unruh ruled as surrogate king, but only as long as Józef Brandt remained absent from the capital. However, the heir of Kitezh still had the legal authority to demand back the crown, should he ever return. And if he should come home and choose to reign—in the midst of one of Kitezh's greatest crises—the repercussions were unthinkable!

Heinz cringed, thinking of all the progress he had made, only to have it topple and burn at the prince's hand. Józef was a loose cannon—a spoiled brat—with no experience at governance, nor any concept of military strategy. He would treat the country's future like a sport, using men's lives as if they were gambits on a board in a game of Conquest!

Heinz _deserved_ to be rightful ruler. He had earned the position through hard work and effective leadership. It was _his_ decisive actions that had saved the city of Rungholt from the Angkorian occupation, _his_ iron will that had emboldened the troops—_his_ flawless tactics that toppled the enemy's defenses. Without him, the people of Kitezh would have been under the boot of Richard Cromwell's tyranny, their freedoms stripped away, their futures uncertain.

Yet, in spite of all he had accomplished, Heinz knew the job was far from finished. The country needed a strong and stable leader. Without proper governance, conditions would regress into a state of unpreparedness. Angkor would return, more determined than ever, and the sacrifice of Heinz' kinsmen would all be for naught. He could not let that happen … he _would not_ let all the hard work, blood, and tears be in vain!

These concerns left the surrogate king's mind abuzz and preoccupied while his Ministry reported their daily briefings. He half-listened to the banal accounts of his Minister of Infrastructure, as the portly gentleman droned on about a blockage in the city's water drainage systems. Rains had exposed the issue by flooding certain damaged districts, and the Minister of Health expressed serious concern over spreading disease. Sadly, some of the bodies of blast victims had not yet been recovered, and their decomposing flesh submerged in standing water posed a serious health hazard.

Heinz had been applying careful consideration toward resolving these issues. He did not want even one of Rungholt's problems to escape notice because he delegated the responsibility to an inexperienced subordinate. The prosperous recovery of the capital city was a top priority, second only to plans for the counter-attack—which absolutely _had_ to succeed at demobilizing Angkor's offensives. Only then would Kitezh have bought enough time to unite with their allies.

Rumors continued to pour in regarding Angkor's closed borders, and the internal war waged against its citizens of Kitezhian descent. Though Heinz had initially been skeptical of these horrific accounts, he could not ignore the mounting evidence. Additionally, news had recently surfaced suggesting a second attack on the country of Koba, which left Rungholt awash in rampant speculation.

Sadly, Heinz had neither the time nor resources to respond with aid. Koba would need to fend for themselves—at least for now. But, it did reveal a hidden truth about Angkor's military. There was no way Richard could execute on so many fronts without spreading his military too thin. It presented a window of opportunity to attack Angkor while at their weakest. With any luck, a surprise attack on the capital would send Richard's military into chaos, giving Heinz the time he needed. He could not miss this chance!

He mulled over various attack strategies while his Ministry debated how to clean up the water and sewage problem. Realizing it would likely turn into a fierce confrontation with no timely or workable conclusion, he dismissed his ministers and asked each one to submit their proposals for final deliberation.

The grown men could barely hide their wounded looks, like girls overlooked at a dance. Heinz had long since grown accustomed to the selfishness of his subordinates, but he had expected more from Kitezh's top brass. Ignoring their angry glares, he stayed behind to reread some of the reports.

After a few minutes of slogging through a paper from his Minister of Commerce, he heard a knock at the door.

"Enter," he commanded, still staring at his paperwork. After a couple of moments of silence, he looked up to see the figure of a man standing underneath the archway. Heinz recognized the man instantly and hastily ordered him to enter and close the door behind him.

"Sit down," the surrogate king urged.

Like most politicians, Heinz had felt it prudent to hire a number of followers who were known only to himself. These men swore a different kind of oath, one that prioritized personal loyalty to their liege over any prior commitments to the Brandt royal family. It offered a level of protection that even Heinz' Ministry could not match.

Ten days earlier, he had sent several of these trusted allies to Tiahuanaco in the hope of finding the late King Brandt's brat of a son. Heinz had hoped that Józef would never make it all the way to his destination, and with the heir's death, he could ascend to the crown on a permanent basis. He hoped it might finally be the day when his contacts returned with good news. Heinz eagerly gazed at the middle-aged man with raven-black hair and a long goatee, as he settled into a nearby chair. His face was thin, though well-defined by a distinctively long and crooked nose.

"Sire, I am afraid I have bad news," the man admitted.

Heinz' fingers immediately went to his temples to massage away the throbbing pain. He had no patience for ineptitude, least of all over something so important.

The man continued. "It seems the rumors were true. Angkor attacked Tiahuanaco five days ago with their air fleet. Strangely enough, their target appears to have been the sunstone."

Heinz stopped listening when he heard confirmation that Koba's capital city had been attacked. He was ready to skip to the most important part.

"The prince—is he dead? Was he killed in the assault?"

"No, my Lord," the man responded in a level tone. "Actually, we found Prince Brandt safely in the company of the emperor. For some reason, Angkor left the city surprisingly intact after seizing their sunstone."

Heinz scoffed. "What? Are you sure?" His train of thought was thrown off course with this new mystery over Angkor's motives. They had left Kitezh's capital in ruin, but for some reason had spared Koba's. It seemed absurd that they would not attempt to inflict maximum damage, or else risk leaving themselves open to retaliation on two fronts. The sunstone was a clearly a red herring—too minor of a prize to be their primary target. And yet, why would Angkor care for a simple religious trinket, anyway? A trophy of war, perhaps?

The man continued, unperturbed by Heinz' reaction. "That is what the report says, my Lord. I came here as soon as the carrier pigeon arrived, as you had commanded."

"Let me see it." Heinz reached over and ripped the letter from the man's hands. The man shrank away as the surrogate king furiously scanned the page.

The document said that the men had arrived on Terminus … there was evidence of some damage toward the city's west gate, but Angkor seemed to have sustained the heaviest casualties … much of their air fleet had been destroyed by Koba's ground defense, and evidence of crashed ships could be observed in the surrounding landscape. It all seemed like very good news … but why? Angkor had the advantage. Their siege should have been flawless. Was it a miscalculation? Was Richard losing his edge?

Reading further, he saw that the Gnostic Knight, Bram Morrison, had departed on a ship to the Southern Content. Probably a ruse. He could have actually been en route to Angkor to report to Richard. But something seemed odd …. The letter did indeed suggest the sunstone was the primary target, but then again, intelligence was only as good as the source. Still, Heinz wondered if Angkor had found something special about those old rocks ….

"Sire," the man's voice once again broke into Heinz' deep thoughts. "Do you have any further orders concerning our bounty?" He was clearly referring to the prince.

Heinz sighed. He had never expected Józef to reach Tiahuanaco in the first place, but it seemed the prince deserved at least some token measure of credit. Fortunately, Heinz had prepared a contingency. With the heir still alive, he could not miss the opportunity to acquire some of the royal family's closest secrets. Henrich had surely passed these things on to his son when the boy came of age, including the combination to the family vaults. The funds inside would eventually be needed to mobilize the country's army against Angkor, and they would not be transferred while the heir still lived.

Of course, Heinz had no desire for the boy to return home. The risk was just too great that Józef would end destroying all the progress Heinz had made. The only remaining option was to stall the heir's return and offer Heinz a chance to extract the information he needed. The surrogate king made up his mind. Turning to the man who awaited his response, he spoke with the right level of gravity that his directive deserved.

"Yes. Execute the plan as we discussed. It is … for the good of Kitezh."

The man nodded and discreetly left the room. Heinz massaged his temples deeply, thinking how much easier things would have been had the prince simply perished in the attack. He closed his eyes, but only for a few moments to collect his thoughts. Then he would need to head back to his doddering Ministry to fix his broken city.


	70. Chapter 6: Part III

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* * *

**Part III**

_Afternoon of Diapente, Twentieth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Bram awoke to a gentle warmth upon his face. The mid-afternoon sun. His head pounded, and his body itched all over. He was covered in sand.

He slowly rotated onto his stomach, planting both hands into the golden loam of a remote beach. His muscles ached, but he attempted to stand and get his bearings … where he was, what had happened.

He recalled being hit on the head above his right ear, and he touched it without thinking. He winced, feeling a deep and penetrating pain that almost brought him to his knees. He also remembered fierce waves on an otherwise clear morning … a merchant vessel en route to Tanis … gale force winds … an impatient captain … shouts from the sailors … a monstrous tentacle ….

Uriana!

His heart clenched as the horrific memory of her being ripped from his grasp. He had been trying to flee a set of monstrous tentacles, supposed appendages of the legendary creature, _Bake-Kujira_. Uriana had been in his arms, but in an instant she was lost in the chaos. His memories were all a blur after that, but it hardly mattered. She was gone.

He sank to the sand, pounding it hard with his fists, shouting debilitating curses full of sadness and loss. He wandered what he had done to deserve such misery. He had left his homeland with all the best intentions, determined to do the right thing, putting his life at risk to stand against Angkor's wanton aggressions … but he ended up losing _everything!_

He condemned the Goddess for her cruelty; not just for Uriana, the child who had touched his heart, but also for Rosa—and for every meaningful part of his life that had been snatched away. He cursed again, directing his wrath at the wretched seas for floating him to an empty beach, but failing to take his life and put him out of his misery. He howled damnations to all the kings and chancellors, those men who made the world so rotten and corrupt. Their avarice knew no bounds, and they had no regards for the people they hurt. They could all burn—_damn them!_

Up until that moment, Bram had held all his emotions in check. But now, with Uriana gone, his shields of fortitude and stoicism collapsed. She had been his last defense, a bastion of peace that maintained his calm, even when all else had fallen apart. He never realized how much he had truly cared for her—a child who was not even his own—until missing her on this lonely beach. It pained him to picture her … the sight of her gentle smile, the sound of her innocent voice, and the peacefulness surrounding her playful nature … her indomitable spirit represented the last remaining purity, in a world ruled by greed and aggression.

She was more than just an endearing child. She was a beacon of light, reminding Bram of the principles he had once cherished. Compassion, forgiveness, optimism … he had carried a similar standard on the road of his youth, but somewhere along his journey to adulthood, he lost his way. But Uriana had been his compass, pointing him back to the path from which he strayed—and he was lost without her.

He thought back, alone, with nothing but his sorrow on a barren beach, trying to recall the last time his life was full of passion and virtue. He had grown up in an altruistic village, hard-coded with a set of principles that he dreamed of spreading throughout the world. He thought that rising through Angkor's ranks might enable him to epitomize these ideals to others across the land. This included his desire to change the way people perceived the nation's famers—a subject of personal importance, given his experiences with his surrogate parents and neighbors. Farmers had no other advocate to watch for their interests; certainly not the aristocracy, who often treated them no better than tools for harvesting taxes.

So Bram joined the Gnostics, the kingdom's most elite knighthood, which he believed was his quick ticket for reaching his dreams of fame and exposure. The Order taught him many things—not just sword-fighting and wilderness skills that shaped him into an adept warrior—but also a new set of principles. They blurred the lines between loyalty and morality, immersing Bram in a slow indoctrination that shifted his ethical beliefs to better align with the will of the king. The people of Koba and Kitezh were once neighbors, but soon they became bitter enemies. They were dehumanized—turned into swine who deserved to be butchered for their attacks on Angkorian soil.

Sadly, Bram had failed to maintain the objective perspective of his youth. Looking back, he realized that the soldiers he fought were no more than desperate people defending their own lands. Underneath their armor, they were the same downtrodden farmers he had once sworn to protect. Instead of carrying forth his youthful ideals, he ended up a member of the same establishment he had hoped to tear down. Along with his cohorts, he burned villages and killed civilians by the thousands, all while devastating the peaceful Kitezhian and Koban countrysides. The Gnostic Knights were King Richard's hounds, which he used to unleash his fury upon his enemies. And Bram was perhaps the most faithful of them all.

It was only in his darkest hour—lost in the salt and sand of another land—that he finally looked back on his past deeds and realized … he should have been cursing _himself_ all along. The reason he deserved his misfortunes? It was because he had been on the wrong side for so many years, unable to differentiate his new set of principles from the purer ideals of his youth. He deserved to lose the things he cherished the most, because he had lost his path of virtue in the worst way possible. His losses were restitutions for deeds committed during the War—karma appropriately proportioned.

Had he realized this earlier, he would have never gone to Minoa to steal their sunstone. He might have even prevented the destruction of the valley of Ur, leaving Uriana with her true guardian—her mother—alive and well in their peaceful tribal village. The poor child's misfortune was on him! He knew he had to atone for his role as Richard's Gnostic, and could no longer use bad luck or naiveté as a defense for his actions.

He took in a deep breath, hoping it would help to clear his mind. And at that moment, he wondered … what if Uriana was still alive? Perhaps she had survived, or maybe even washed ashore, somewhere nearby, adrift on the same ocean currents that had brought Bram to the desolate beach. Was it possible? Could there truly be a chance? Or was it just wishful thinking, his delirious mind playing cruel tricks? He looked up fervently, scanning the beach, full of hope.

"Yuri," he hollered. "Uriana!"

He limped down the sandy coastline, calling her name until his throat was raw. The uselessness of his efforts was apparent, but he did not care. He pictured Uriana on the sand, almost within reach, just beyond the next bend—but his hopes were dashed at every turn. There was no one … nothing in sight. He was alone.

His wound burned. He forced his eyes open, planting both feet wide in the sand to steady himself against a sudden wave of dizziness.

"Yuri!"

He screamed her name, expending the last of his adrenaline-infused energy. And then there was nothing left. All energy and hope were gone.

He once again fell to his knees, feeling sick, eyes brimming with tears, face caked with sand. He refused to accept defeat, but he knew he had been shipwrecked in the middle of the Great Ocean, where the chance of survival should have been close to zero. And even if Uriana had survived Bake-Kujira's deadly assault, what hope did he have that she would have ended up on the same remote beach? Whom was he kidding?

His body heaved and a series of sobs sprang forth—evidence that he was finally ready to accept the truth. He ignored a thin line of mucus as it dripped from his numb open jaw. There was no point in holding back any longer. He had nothing more to prove, and no one to question or mock his broken façade of strength. It was finally time to give in to the sadness.

He wailed out loud, overflowing with hopelessness and despair, filled with shame and repugnance that it had taken him so long to realize his mistakes. His past was full of sin and far too late to repent.

Even so, there was one last thing that stopped him from walking into the sea and submerging his grief beneath the salty waves of indifference. Only a few people on Gaia knew what would happen if all four sunstones were gathered, and he was one of them. If Richard inadvertently released the Ahrimen into the world, their evil would multiply the world's suffering a thousand-fold. But Bram still had a chance to make a difference!

Józef Brandt and Zhao Peng still needed brave men and women to stand beside them. If Bram were willing to help, it seemed like it could serve as a potential penance. Although it would not bring back those he loved the most, perhaps he could at least die in peace, knowing he had done his best to set things right. He needed some kind of respite, some way to forgive himself for being a fool for so long. Only then would his life have a purpose.

With that in mind, he stood up from the sand and smeared his tears along his cheeks with a soiled sleeve. Determined to fight or die trying, he headed inland to find the nearest town or settlement.


	71. Chapter 6: Part IV

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* * *

**Part IV**

_Morning of Somnus, Twenty-Second Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Many nights had passed since Cedric was first detained in the old Angkorian dungeons, but his spirit was far from broken. He performed his work, as he had agreed—and indeed it led to quick progress on his Zounds prototype. Even so, he never stopped looking for a way to undermine his captors.

Not a moment went by that the tortured screams of Mason Eckerd's youngest son, Adam, did not tear at his insides. Virgil Garvey's odious act of coercion would not soon be forgotten, nor would Cedric ever wash away the image of the First Advisor's sadistic eyes—bright orbs reflecting the nearby torch flames, gazing with unbridled malice from the other side of the cell bars.

It was surely the look of a madman, or perhaps the result of the same perverted magic corrupting King Richard. No man in his right mind would commit such atrocities without a hint of remorse. Cedric hated Virgil with a passion, but the animosity had slowly dulled over the passing days, forming a heavy lump that settled to the bottom of his gut. It was a glowing ember, kept white-hot by his memories of the injustice. He vowed to always carry it with him—incentive to sustain his hunger for vengeance and retribution.

To outsmart Virgil's shrewdness and cunning, he needed to determine the man's true motives. Cedric tried to reason out any kind of information he could use against his nemesis. It was clear that Zounds was a critical piece of Virgil's and Richard's plans, but Cedric not know how, or why. Fully operational, the sky base would have incredible destructive power. But, if their goal was to simply level the cities of their enemy, surely there were easier alternatives. Angkor's military already had an extensive armory filled with weapons stronger than any other force on the planet. Cedric surmised that it might have to do with the function of the new "black box" devices. He studied the designs, trying to backwards engineer their function, but his efforts were for naught.

As a last resort, he considered sabotaging the design. He would need to implement an ever-so-subtle change in order to escape notice from the senior artisans, who thoroughly checked the schematics for accuracy and validity. They were clever men, but far below Cedric's own intellect. He could sneak in a weak point along the main struts that would cause the hull to buckle at high altitudes—and no one would know the difference. He imagined Virgil being on board, only to experience the fatal thrill of his weapon of mass destruction plummeting toward the planet. Cedric's quill hovered over the design schematics, ready to ink in the bogus measurement that would cause the whole design to collapse in on itself—but he could not bring himself to do it.

Zounds was too important. As wicked as the child might be, the father still loved his offspring too much to destroy it. Cedric clenched his teeth over his own sentimentalism, standing in the way of his perfect vengeance. Of course, he also had to consider the collateral damage of his subterfuge. Should a cathedral sized airborne heap of steel and fire come raining down on a populated area, the casualties would be too numerous to imagine. He cursed under his breath. There had to be another way!

But not within his cell, and not without visibility to the outside world. He was denied a time piece or even an hourglass, leaving him with only the ability to judge relative time in between events. Twice each day, the jailor interrupted his solitude. The first was the delivery and removal of two buckets—one that served as a bodily waste receptacle, and the other filled with water and an old rag for meeting his hygiene requirements. The first visit also included his morning porridge. It was the same gruel served to other prisoners for breakfast; hard to swallow at first, but being at the edge of starvation somehow made it palatable.

Closer to evening time, the jailor delivered a more complete meal. One of Cedric's requests had been to feed off the same menu as the guardsmen—at least once per day. It consisted of a starch, usually a crust of bread or some milk and potatoes; a slice of whatever fruit or vegetable had lingered longest in the food closets before spoiling; and lastly, a salty strip of fish or swine. At the end of the week, the Substratum butchered a calf and served red meat, though a few bites always seemed to be missing from Cedric's plate. He suspected the jailor—an obese and repulsive man who always seemed to know how to raise Cedric's blood pressure—had helped himself to a morsel or two before serving it.

The new diet was not all bad. Cedric ended up consuming far smaller quantities of food than he had as Angkor's wealthy Grand Craftsman. Consequently, he felt more energetic, and began losing his stoutly figure. On his breaks, he put his anger toward a regiment of exercise. His small cell originally limited these activities, but after having everything removed but his desk and a single cot, the space in between became adequate for stretching and pushups. He felt better than he had in years.

In response, the jailor worsened his treatment. Each time the filthy man entered the cell, he restrained Cedric's left ankle to a clamp on the floor. Once secured, he bound Cedric's arms tightly behind his chair and drove his head against the top of his desk. The man's body odor was revolting. Every time he came within five spans, its potent effluvium was enough to raise Cedric's bile. The craftsman glared back at his assaulter, knowing the day would come when he would have the upper hand. He vowed to find a means of escape, even despite the risk of getting lost in the Catacombs. That was when he started scheming.

At first, the notion was like a daydream—a passing fancy replete with warm brandy while lazing in bed between satin sheets. However, an accident born of frustration brought it closer to reality. It happened while optimizing a part of the design to accommodate another of the "black box" features. Due to the secrecy behind these devices, he was given very little useful information. He spent many hours trying to calculate the data so the dimensions would fit—but it was just not adding up! Angry and frustrated, he shoved the schematics off the desk, sending papers and tools cascading to the floor. Along with them went his abacus. When the wooden instrument hit the hard stone, the frame cracked and exposed a thin metal spine.

Cedric stared at it for a few moments before bending over to pick it up. So far, his captors had been meticulous in denying him any kind of metal instrument, but here was something they had overlooked. It was thin and rigid, about a foot in length. Given the right shape, it had the makings of a strong lock pick.

For a couple of days, he used the flame of his meager candle to soften and slowly bend the metal. He did this discreetly, for no more than a few hours at a time, wary of being discovered. When he was done molding it, he hid the tool inside his mattress. As soon as he was certain he was alone, he approached the lock and inserted the metal slowly, feeling around inside, imagining the mechanism's inner workings. Then he would make adjustments. He worked slowly and methodically, careful not to fracture the sensitive instrument and ruin his chances altogether.

At last, while twisting in the usual manner, he felt it catch. He applied a small amount of pressure, and the lock made a hollow clunk. He felt a surge of adrenaline, lifting his spirit to near euphoria. The gate opened, and he slipped swiftly into the darkness.


	72. Chapter 6: Part V

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* * *

**Part V**

_Morning of Somnus, Twenty-Second Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Bram had made slow progress since starting his hike from the remote beach. It took him a couple of days trudging through forests and scaling hills in search for a village or settlement. First, he needed to determine where he had washed up, and then his plan was to get back on track to the Southern Continent.

Meanwhile, his head ached, often with waves of nausea. So he stopped to rest frequently. Fortunately, his wilderness training helped him find food and shelter. The landscape was foreign, but full of fruit trees and small fauna. The weather was warm—almost tropical—with leafy vegetation and timid wildlife grazing peacefully beside gentle streams.

The climate suggested a landmass far south of the Northern Continent, which was already at the onset of winter. However, the Southern Continent was still thousands of leagues away when his ship capsized, and there were no way for the currents to have taken him that far. He supposed he had landed on one of the islands in the middle of the Great Ocean, but he had to find out more before he could chart a new course. Wherever it was, though, it felt peaceful.

He climbed one of the higher prominences to get a better view of his surroundings. Beyond a set of rolling hills, he saw rows of dwellings that marked the outskirts of a village. At last—a place where he could seek medical attention! He worried about the trauma to his head and the long-term impacts of being left untreated. He limped slowly down the hillside, grabbing onto the trunks of eucalyptus trees to steady himself along the way.

When he got closer, he realized the size and scale of the village was larger than he had first estimated. Many of the residences had been obscured by tall cypress trees, but at the ground level, he saw huts and lean-tos sprawled in all directions. Unpaved streets stretched under a leafy canopy, filled with busy villagers out on their daily chores. He noticed based on their facial features that they came from various ethnicities—Kitezhian, Koban, and Vinetan the most obvious among them. As he hobbled down the main road, he received dirty looks from the passersby, almost as if they regarded him as an unwelcome visitor.

He shrank back from their angry glares, but they kept their eyes transfixed, whispering among themselves as he passed. He overheard the occasional comment. "Is this the one?" and, "It must be the same man!"

In an instant, the realization came to him. He knew where he was, and his heart lurched. He had not landed on just any tropical landmass in the middle of the Great Ocean … it was the continent of Minoa! To make matters worse, he ended up in the very same village where he had first plundered the sunstone under King Richard's orders. Had his head not been dazed by his concussive injury, he would have recognized it sooner!

Unfortunately, the villagers seemed to recognize him right away, despite that his clothes were caked with salt and sand, his skin bruised and battered, and his face unshaven. He was far from the menacing Gnostic Knight who had thundered into their village with his fearsome stature, commanding a troop of lethally armed soldiers.

Even with his pitiful appearance, the villagers eyed him angrily, and he sensed a mob forming. He withdrew a few steps, hoping to slip away before any kind of confrontation. He was startled when he backed into an old woman, who stared back at him through sightless prosthetic eyes, wearing a wicked grin.

"Leaving so soon, visitor?" she crowed. Those beside her laughed in amusement.

Bram tensed as the atmosphere turned ever more toxic. "You know who I am."

The old woman cackled, clearly affirming his suspicions. "Living under the Goddess' protection has made us sensitive to the spirits of others," she explained. "I don't need my eyes to know what a pitiful wretch you've become, _Gnostic_. Whatever misfortune crossed your path, do not expect any sympathy from us!"

"Yeah," a male voice followed. "Get out of our village!"

A din of rebukes arose from the mob.

"I lost my niece the day you came to our temple!" another shouted.

"Angkor killed my family during the War!" a third yelled. "And now they think they can get away with taking our sunstone!"

Bram inched further back, but the crowd's anger continued to grow, intensifying until it finally boiled over. Waves of pent-up grief spilled forth, all of it directed at the newly identified Gnostic in their midst.

"Get out of here, swine!"

"Chase him out, chase him out!"

"No, punish him for what he's done!"

Bram turned and fled, but made it no more than a few steps before the whistle of a rock in motion passed his ear. The first act of violence broke the inhibitions of the others. Another rock just barely missed his other side, but a third hit him squarely in the back. He yelped right as a fourth rock slammed against the back of his left knee. His leg buckled, and he fell face-first into a puddle of mud. He could think of nothing else but to roll on his back and hold his hands in front of his face.

"Stop!" a female voice cried out from the mob, in a tone that sounded very different from the others. Neither angry nor erratic, but firm. Compassionate.

Bram still lay in the puddle with both arms held out in a feeble attempt to defend against the villagers' attacks. Fortunately, they heeded the female voice, and a young woman bearing Koban features pushed her way through the confused masses. She was no more than a teenager, with long black hair and almond-shaped eyes that burned with conviction as they darted from one villager to the next, daring them to act out of line.

Turning to Bram, she bent down with her arm extended. Her voice was thick with a Koban accent. "Do not be afraid, stranger. I will allow no more harm to come to you."

Bram hesitated, still in shock over how close he had come to a violent end. The girl turned back toward the villagers, staring them down, wagging her index finger scoldingly. "You should all be ashamed! Mother Gaia forbids the maiming of another human being. Remember your verses: 'Thou shalt not hurt nor hinder thy fellow man or woman.' "

Embarrassed mumblings rumbled through the crowd, but it seemed their ire had cooled. In a matter of seconds, they dispersed, returning to their routines as if nothing had happened. The young woman smiled, clearly quite proud of herself. Bram attempted to stand on his own, but another wave of nausea brought him back to his knees.

"Easy, now," the young woman coaxed, reaching out with her arms. "Here, let me help."

Bram felt the soothing flow of white magic prickle under his skin. Slowly, the pain dissipated as the swelling in his head receded. The young Koban woman looked very concerned.

"You have quite a severe wound!" she exclaimed. "How many rocks hit you in the head before I arrived?"

Bram was not sure why the young girl was so helpful, but he mustered a few words. "None, my Lady. The head injury is from a few days ago."

Bram could have sworn he saw her blush, perhaps due to the overly formalized title he had given her.

"You are lucky to be alive," she concluded. "Usually, with a head injury as bad as yours, a person is practically bedridden. You are unusually strong, you know."

Bram eyed her quizzically, hoping for a chance to learn why she had bothered to intervene in the first place. "I appreciate you arriving when you did, and owe you my thanks. But … who are you?"

"Oh, how rude of me," she giggled, looking embarrassed. Her demure attitude reminded him of Rosa, and how much he missed the way she would sometimes turn shy in response to compliments.

"My name is Mica. I came to Minoa six years ago, after my parents died. It was in the final years of the War when it was unsafe to remain in Koba. I was ten at the time, and came on a boat with other refugees. Now I study under the Elder, working toward becoming a full-fledged Gaian Priestess."

Bram had not expected such openness and candor. She almost seemed lighthearted at revealed her tragic past to a complete stranger. Not to mention that her neighbors had just come dangerously close to stoning him to death, yet she acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"You study under the Elder?" he asked. Mica's connection with the leader of the Gaian faith was disconcerting, making Bram wonder if her presence was more than just a coincidence.

Mica nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes! In fact, he sent me to this very spot—just moments ago—to retrieve something very important. I did not know that he meant _you_, but fortunately, I arrived just in time. He can be magnificently prescient, you know!"

Bram tensed, wondering how he could have known. If the Elder was a Diviner, it was possible that he intended to deliver judgment upon Bram for his crimes. Then again, since he had only sent a younger acolyte instead of armed men, perhaps he intended mercy.

"I suppose I owe him my gratitude," Bram responded, trying his best to sound humble.

"Not at all!" Mica assured him. "Gaia teaches us to perform good works for their own rewards. Besides, if the Elder seeks a person, it is usually for a good reason."

Bram lowered his head, still fearing the Elder's justice, but Mica stepped forward to persuade him. "I sense you carry guilt, stranger, but do not despair. We are only truly judged the day we return to Gaia. So, whatever you have done, there is still time to make it right!"

The priestess' words were powerful. Bram only hoped she was right. He decided the next conciliatory step would be to introduce himself. "My name's Bram."

Mica smiled. "Wonderful to meet you, Bram!" She extended her hand, but when he took it, she held on tight. "Follow me. I can take you to the temple, so you can speak to the Elder directly."

Bram withdrew his hand and held his ground, unprepared to face the Elder's potential wrath.

Mica appeared to understand. "Do not fear our leader, Bram. It is a great honor to hear his wisdom. Besides, I have healed your wounds to the best of my limited abilities, but in truth, the high priests should take a closer look. Come on! You can trust me."

She waited with an outstretched hand.

Bram took a deep breath before accepting it. After all, if fate should have him fall at the Elder's hand, it would be the final recompense for all his horrible deeds. If he dared not to face his own punishment, he might as well head back to the beach and submerge himself under the apathetic waves. Mica clearly had no read on his inner thoughts. She seemed overjoyed as she led him to the center of the village, all the way to the grandiose—albeit out of place—temple.

On the way, she chattered on and on about her functions as a priestess and her life in Minoa—all while Bram remained silent. He was too preoccupied with guilt and apprehension to pay any attention. Only a few weeks earlier, he had walked the very same path, on his way to steal the Minoan sunstone. It was another example of his misguided past. He had been an accomplice to murder, just so that Richard could obtain his prize.

When he reached the gates of the temple, they brought back vivid memories of Virgil's magic. Two priests had warmly welcomed who they thought was an Angkorian assembly, but Bram and his men returned their kindness by violently apprehending them. Inside, the white marble tiles had been covered with the paralyzed bodies of clergymen who had all succumbed to the chancellor's evil powers. Even worse were the stains of blood smeared across the sunstone's inner chamber—once healthy men and women who had intended to pray on their holy day of meditation, until Virgil's magic brought their venerations to a horrendous end.

Bram thought back to the part he played in that ordeal. He had accepted a mission he never fully understood, and yet he flew halfway around the world to ensure its success. Blaming it all on Virgil only diverted his own responsibility. He was capable of making his own decisions, and could have rejected his orders at any time. He knew the people of Minoa were not his enemy, but he chose to violate their trust—and he hated himself for it.

If he had prevented the sunstone's original theft, he might have stopped everything else from happening. Virgil might have been a powerful wizard, but every man had a weakness. The destruction of Ur might have never happened, nor Rosa's abduction, the shipwreck, nor all the other misfortunes. It all began because of Bram's imprudent choice to blindly follow his orders.

Of course, years of conditioning had trained him to obey without question. It had never occurred to him to do anything else. For sure, he had begun to divert from the right path long before his mission to Minoa. His problems had actually begun the day he joined the Gnostic Knights in the first place. But it was too late to change that decision now, nor any of the decisions that followed. Bram decided that if the Elder intended to dole out justice, he would readily accept it.

"I see that you've prepared yourself for judgment, Mister Morrison," a firm but soothing voice spoke, seeming to know exactly what Bram was thinking. "However, it's not too late to repent … assuming you're willing to take responsibility for your actions."

The former knight looked up from his thoughts to see the Elder seated on the prayer-room floor, surrounded by a host of other priests. Bram recalled the last time he had confronted this man in his temple, remembering his small stature and youthful face—free of wrinkles or creases—hidden behind a short beard of brown with white flecks. This time, however, the Elder had a much more commanding position, supported by the angry glares of his followers.

Mica stepped forward to genuflect before her master. "Father, I have brought the man that you requested."

"Father?" Bram asked without thinking.

"She is my child," the Elder answered, "just like every other Minoan. Though they may not live in the lifestyle you've grown accustomed to, Mister Morrison, I care for them as a father would. No one is ever hungry here, and neither is anyone without a home. Mother Gaia provides for Her children, as well as those who revere Her and respect the planet. You, on the other hand, have betrayed Her will, which is why you've paid for your sins with the greatest of losses."

Bram stood in silence, unsure of what to say.

"You have suffered greatly, these past few weeks," the old man continued. "You thought you had it all, but now you stand before me a broken man. So tell me … do you seek vengeance, or redemption?"

Bram let out a deep breath. There was no denying the Elder was capable of reading at least some of his thoughts. He felt it wise to answer honestly. "You're a talented Diviner, sir, but I don't seek vengeance … only a chance to set things right."

The Elder frowned. "You would dare to ask my people for forgiveness? What would you offer, to convince us to trust a wretch like you?"

Bram met the Elder's steel blue eyes. "I have nothing more than my word and my honor. I know these must mean little to you, given what I've done. I used to follow King Richard without question, but only because I believed it was the right thing for my homeland."

"More, Mister Morrison," the Elder demanded, wearing a hardened face that would not be so easily persuaded.

Bram gathered his thoughts, hoping the truth from his heart would be enough to satisfy the Elder's wrath. It was not something he typically exposed. Gnostic conditioning had walled in such feelings, but he feared the Minoans would not accept anything less, and he feared what they would do to him, if his answer was not adequate. And besides, this was his chance to let go of his past and build a new future. Not just for the Minoan people, but also for himself.

Summoning his courage, Bram spoke. "Things changed the day after I returned from Minoa. Richard sent me on a mission to Ur, and his orders were to assassinate their tribal chief. Only after arriving did I learn my true mission—the annihilation of the entire village."

Bram heard gasps from the other priests, but he kept on going. "I was given a magical device that activated without my knowledge. It set the whole village ablaze, killing all but one of the inhabitants."

The priests shook their heads in disgust, eyes transfixed upon Bram, ready to condemn him on the spot. Now he was committed to his story and determined to convince them that he deserved mercy.

Swallowing his reservations, he continued. "Had I known, I would have never let it happen! I tried to help, but all I found was a single survivor—a child. She had lost everything she ever knew or loved … and I _had_ to protect her! I finally understood the wickedness that Richard had unleashed, and I was ready to stand against it. I rescued the child from death, and …"

Bram's words trailed off as the Elder crossed his arms, as well as his brows. The Gaian leader spoke with condemnation. "I remain unconvinced. All I hear is a weak set of remediations, all made after the fact. Do you really expect us to see you as a victim of circumstance? You had a simple choice in front of you, and because you made it errantly, more death and destruction followed in your wake."

Bram gritted his teeth, determined to set things straight. "There was nothing simple about it!" he growled. "The man I traveled with was a lifelong friend … but he remained loyal to Richard. I had to fight him in order to defend the child. You don't know what that's like—to give up on your homeland, and turn against a man who's been like a brother ever since childhood. But I'd do it all again, without hesitation! I was hard for me at the time, but I've changed since then!"

The Elder tilted his head, his face still filled with doubt—but Bram pressed on, resolutely. "I'm not the man I once was! I accept the crimes of my past and am willing to face retribution, but you must at least allow me to help recover the sunstones. Angkor already has three of them, and we can't allow them to retrieve the fourth!"

The Elder appeared to be taken aback. "You claim to want to defend the sunstones now? That would require quite a bit of courage, Mister Morrison, especially if your former king already possesses three of them. How would you ever expect to do it?"

Bram was encouraged to hear a change in tone, and he was ready to put forth ideas. "Before I was lost at sea, I was headed to the Great Library in Tanis. There, I believe I can find the knowledge to—"

"No." The Elder swiftly cut him off.

Bram did not expect to be denied so quickly. He stood before the head of the Gaian faith looking dumbstruck, unsure what more he could say.

The Elder's voice filled the silence. "You do not need a ship to confront your enemy. What you require is spirit and truth. I have a different journey in mind."

Bram did not understand, but hoped the Elder did not refer to a spiritual exercise. Bram's first priority was to find the knowledge necessary to defeat the Ahrimen. He could not allow anything to lead him astray, much less this group of religious fanatics!

"Elder, we don't have time to waste!" he argued. "Even as we speak, Angkor advances on the final sunstone. If you had any idea the destructive power they would unlock with all four—"

"Silence!" the Elder thundered.

Bram was aghast. The Elder's eyes were filled with fire as he stood up with the commanding stature of a king. Despite the man's smaller body size, Bram felt himself shrinking back. Even Mica looked stunned.

"Do not lecture me on the power of the sunstones!" the Elder bellowed. "By Minoan Law, you should be executed! Three Gaian Priests and Priestesses are dead by your deeds, and you have blasphemed one of the planet's most sacred artifacts. Either you will comply with my demands, or I'll be forced to hand you over to the _Redeemers_!"

Bram knew that these Redeemers were nothing more than executioners. He now walked a very thin line, with no leverage to push back. The Minoans might have been a peaceful and trusting people, but they had clearly reached their limits. Bram's biggest worry was whether the Elder truly understood the dangers, or if he was merely doling out punishments consistent with his Gaian faith.

Bram hoped the Elder was privy to the same secrets revealed through the Enchantment as was Emperor Zhao or Józef's father. But even if he was, that did not mean he had the right priorities when it came to addressing the threat. Bram thought about agreeing to the Elder's demands, as long as it led to gaining the man's trust. But it seemed just as likely that the Elder would waste his time, endlessly toiling over senseless errands.

On the other hand, denying the Elder's request would almost surely lead to death by execution. Bram had no other choice but to capitulate, and hope it put him in a better position to negotiate later. But before missing his opportunity, he had to at least pass on some vital information.

"I agree to your journey, Elder, but I ask that you please hear me out. I must relay what I've learned about the sunstones' powers!"

The Elder shook his head. "You'll have plenty of time to tell me your theories, pending your safe return."

Bram stepped forward, desperate to reason. "With all due respect, sir, this information must survive, even if I do not! The world cannot risk—"

The Elder leaned forward, his brows crossed. "Mister Morrison! You'll not speak again unless spoken to, or else this conversation will end, and I'll hand you over to your punishment!"

Bram stepped back, his teeth firmly clenched.

The Elder returned to composure. "To the east of Minoa, past the verdant countryside, lies a cleft in the earth, known as the Great Crevasse. Within its cliffs is a portal to an oracle of great wisdom. Your journey shall take you there."

Bram nodded. It would not be too difficult to humor the Elder and still have time to make it to Tanis.

"Good," the Elder concluded. "Mica shall accompany you, to help address the threat of spawn along the way."

Bram's eyes went wide at the thought of sending a young priestess into spawn-infested wilderness. "Elder, surely a more seasoned veteran would be more appropriate!"

The old man simply smiled and spoke condescendingly, in the tone of an instructor leading a simpleton to a basic conclusion. "Mica has reached her sixteenth year, and is therefore considered an adult by Minoan Law. By making a pilgrimage to the Oracle's holy residence, she will have completed her first test of womanhood."

Now Bram understood the Elder's intention. He clearly wanted to use Bram as an escort, to assist one of his acolytes in some sort of Rite of Passage. Bram huffed, realizing it was nothing more than a waste of his time! And he wondered what kind of backwater town he had managed to run into ….

He tried to pull himself together, to remain calm. "Very well … let's say I bring Mica to this crevasse. When I return, will you at least provide me with a ship to Tanis?"

"We shall see," the Elder replied. "But should you fail, then only your punishment shall await you."

Bram's heart sunk, but he saw no other choice. If he declined, they would execute him, and if he tried to escape, he would have no means of leaving the continent before the Gaian Priests hunted him down.

"I accept your quest," he agreed reluctantly.

The Elder offered a wide grin, his previous demeanor a thing of the past. "Wonderful. You shall leave tomorrow, at sunrise."

Bram nodded politely, but inside, his stomach churned.


	73. Chapter 6: Part VI

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* * *

**Part VI**

_Morning of Somnus, Twenty-Second Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Józef loved the salty smell of ocean air so much that he chose to spend his nights under the stars, lying in the basin of one of the ship's many lifeboats. He found it far more comfortable than the cots down below, where the musty old mattresses and creaky wooden floorboards kept him awake all night. But outdoors, he was reminded of the days he used to stow away, while escaping his regimented life as heir of the Kitezhian throne.

He recalled the time he had once traveled to Vineta, where he had met the girl who captured his heart. On their voyage back to Kitezh, they snuck out to the ship's deck after dark to watch for shooting stars. Hand in hand, they enjoyed streaks of light that arced across the starlit skyline. A crisp breeze blew across the deck, and Angela snuggled close, pressing her body against his, sharing his warmth and bonding in a moment so precious it would have made bards weep.

Józef sighed. If only he could feel her gentle touch—just one more time—it would bring him so much happiness. It had been easy to forget the pain of her death while en route to Tiahuanaco. Things had happened so fast, ever since meeting the enigmatic Gnostic Knight, Bram Morrison. But all that was now well behind him, and the slow voyage home gave his emotions a chance to catch up.

As callow as it sounded, he felt as if Angela had protected him while the Koban capital was under attack. Although the efforts to fight off Angkor and protect the sunstone were all in vain, at least he was alive. He felt he had grown through his ordeals, and was now ready to use his experiences to rebuild his homeland.

According to the Kitezhian sailors who picked him up, Rungholt had successfully defeated Angkor's occupation under the excellent leadership of his Minister of Security, Heinz Unruh. Józef knew that in his absence, Unruh had sworn the oath of Surrogate King. He also understood that Unruh had made some tough choices once Angkor came close to discovering the entrance to the underground Network. Therefore, he did not fault the man for countermanding his orders. In fact, he intended to bestow upon Unruh a medal of honor upon his return.

Invigorated by visions of the future, Józef sat back and listened to the mellow waves as they crashed against the hull of the ship, harmonizing with the twinkling stars. He realized it was his last chance to relax before shouldering an enormous responsibility. Kitezh was a nation at war, and although free from Angkor's occupation, he would still need to prepare for further conflict—especially now that Angkor had three of the sunstones. It was almost too horrifying to imagine what might happen if Angkor gained the fourth. At that point, the world was at risk of the Ahrimen escaping their prisons.

Once a fairy tale meant to scare children, Józef now knew that the Omega War was real, and the demons of legend could very well return to spread their anarchy across the land. The mere thought sent chills up his spine, more than the icy northern winds ever could. Kitezh's army failed to match Angkor's during the War, even with help from Koba. Against the Ahrimen, it would take all the nations of the world united in defense of mankind. Józef envisioned being the king who brought these nations together, and decided it would be his first priority upon returning home.

As he lay on his back against the base of the lifeboat, staring into the night's sky above, an audible thud made its way from inside the cabin. Curious about the sound, he rolled to his side and peeked over the edge of the raft, watching as the cabin door burst open. A set of six sailors emerged, forcefully dragging what appeared to be large burlap sacks along the deck.

The details were shrouded by starry darkness, but an uneasy feeling crept into the pit of his stomach. In all the times he had ever been at sea, he never remembered seeing the crew of a ship unload heavy sacks onto the deck in the middle of night. As he continued to watch, his uneasiness turned to dread as the crew heaved the sacks over the edge of the ship, one by one. It took two men per sack, and there were six sacks altogether—the same as the number of attendants who had survived the attack on Tiahuanaco. Six bodies that would have fit perfectly in the sacks now being jettisoned over the ship's edge.

"Where is the boy?" one of the sailors whispered.

"Not in his cot," another one responded, "I just checked."

"_Damn it!_" cursed the first. "Our head is on the chopping block unless we find him. You all have one minute to check every blasted span of this ship. Now go!"

Józef's heart nearly stopped—_mutiny_! But why? All he thought to do was to reach for his belt knife and cut through the moorings that tethered his lifeboat. He stopped his work momentarily when one of the sailors ran directly past his hiding spot, but he recommenced as soon as he dared.

Fortunately, his knife was sharp and it severed the rope in seconds. It snapped in a manner that should have easily alerted anyone nearby, so Józef wasted no time in cutting the other side. He made quick eye contact with one of the men as they ran up to his boat, but he managed to break free before the sailor caught him.

He held on tightly as the lifeboat tumbled down to the cold ocean waters. An icy splash washed into his craft, spraying painfully chilled droplets on his exposed hands and neck. But he did not care. He grabbed the oars and started rowing.

At once, the sailors threw _seashine_ at his boat. These were stones designed with the light-giving properties of luminess, except in a form that floated. Józef watched the area light up around him with little spheres of light, like the ornaments of a Solstice tree. A second lifeboat landed in the water nearby, followed by shouts from the sailors as they pointed him out.

He rowed as hard and as fast as he could, but the sailors gained on him. So he brought the oars back into his boat and drew his belt knife.

"Prince Brandt, put down the knife," one of them commanded from the other lifeboat.

"Never, you treasonous curs! I will fight to the death if I must!"

"Naïve brat," another man scolded. "We do not wish to harm you, but we will if you do not drop the blasted knife!"

"Rot in the ground!" Józef cursed back.

With a scowl, the man removed his own dagger, while his mate rowed closer. Józef positioned himself in a back stance, trying to keep his balance while brandishing his blade.

When the two men were close enough, one of them jumped into his raft, waving his dagger menacingly. Józef stabbed forward but was unable to hold his balance. The sailor slapped away his hand and punched him in the jaw. In another quick movement, the man bludgeoned the heir of Kitezh with his dagger's hilt. Józef fell backward, now at the mercy of the mutinous men.


	74. Chapter 6: Part VII

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* * *

**Part VII**

_Morning of Primoris, Twenty-Third Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

As the Elder had directed, Bram and Mica departed for The Great Crevasse early in the morning. The Gaian leader provided Bram with proper healing for his head injury, helping him to finally feel like his usual self. Of course, the former knight still suffered from emotions that pulled in every direction, but at least now he was able to hold them in check.

A few days earlier on the remote beach, the thought of losing Rosa and Uriana had nearly destroyed him. The only way to survive was to form a new promise—one he vowed to uphold no matter what stood in his path. The Elder's foolish quest was one such obstacle, but Bram hoped to complete it quickly—whatever it took to get back on track and prevent King Richard from collecting all of the sunstones.

Mica led him down an ancient cobblestone road that started from the rear of the temple. It led east, deep into thick woodlands. He had not noticed the pathway before, since it had sunk, half-buried in dirt and overgrown weeds. He bent down to brush a bit of the undergrowth aside, revealing curious symbols cut into each of the stones. He asked Mica about them, and she revealed that they were Ancient Minoan script. Unfortunately, she had not yet studied the old language. Other than to the Elder and a few niche scholars, the messages left behind by the ancients were a complete mystery.

As they hiked, Mica went on to explain more about the Ancient Minoans. It turned out that Gaian priests had once built temples all over the world, similar to the one in the village. Bram had already visited one of these temples underneath the palace at Tiahuanaco, where he had confronted Kane and the Gnostic Knight known as Samuel. Interestingly, all four of the sunstone nation-protectors had similar temples, including Rungholt, until Angkor's attack had reduced it to rubble.

Bram wondered how the Minoans had come to worship the sunstones as religious icons despite the demonic Ahrimen imprisoned within them. However, he did not want to discuss it with Mica. She still did not know the whole truth, and somehow it felt right to keep it from her. After all, he planned to leave Minoa as soon as the Elder allowed it, and he did not want to leave Mica with the burden of that knowledge.

Instead, he let her carry about the temples as they marched toward their destination. Bram caught on to one interesting piece—supposedly the greatest temple of them all—a shining edifice and symbol of Ancient Minoan influence, built atop the continent's tallest mountain. Or, at least, it had been the greatest, until it was destroyed one morning by a mighty quake. Although no one remembered exactly how it happened, the old texts described a cleft that tore the plains apart, swallowing the mountain and everything on top of it. While nothing of the temple remained, the cleft still existed, and over time had gained its moniker, The Great Crevasse.

"That happened almost a thousand years ago," Mica concluded. "The new temple is more of a memorial—much smaller than the majestic monument that had once stood atop the mount. These days, Minoans still revere this region, but only the Oracle has taken up residence. There have been no quakes since that time, but people still tend to avoid the area due to spawn."

Bram was suddenly curious about the man who was so revered that young acolytes undertook a pilgrimage fraught with danger, just to have the chance to meet him. "So, who is this _Oracle_? And what can you tell me about him?"

Mica stopped her march, looking strangely stumped. "Well, actually, I know very little. The others do not talk about him much. All I know is that he is a very powerful diviner. Apparently, when others travel to his sanctuary, they end up facing his illusions, rather than the man himself. He will not speak with just anyone. Only those who complete their pilgrimage will receive his wisdom and advice, but uninvited guests are greeted with an empty temple nave."

It sounded more to Bram like a charlatan who merely squatted at the Minoan temple, doling out bogus fortunes to naïve priests and priestesses in exchange for free shelter. He chuckled in amusement. "So, he's an illusionist."

Mica glared back at him. "Oh, no, he is so much more! His predictions of the future have proven accurate for generations."

"Generations, huh?" Bram mused glibly. "Just how old is this guy?"

Mica pouted, the indignant visage of a true believer defending her faith. "It is said that certain powerful wizards can extend their life-spans for many years."

Bram smirked, ready to open the debate, since he had once learned much about the topic from Rosa. "I'm familiar with life extension practices," he admitted, "but even the most advanced wizards haven't found a way to extend life more than a couple of decades. The oldest wizards in history never lived past a hundred and twenty years."

Mica placed her hands on her hips, almost reminiscent of the way Rosa looked whenever Bram's derisive humor pushed her a bit too far. "Well, apparently this one has!"

Mica ended in a sharp harrumph, clearly indicating that Bram had crossed a line.

He thought it best to drop the argument. Although he fancied the notion of dispelling false beliefs, the last thing he wanted was to rile Mica to the point of anger. If she wanted to believe in stories and superstitions, she could go right ahead. It was just a reminder of the senselessness of the Elder's errand, which Bram found to be a foolhardy waste of precious time. Of course, the faster he completed the journey and returned back, the better. To that end, changing the subject and getting back on track seemed like the right idea.

"Tell me about the dangers from spawn," he said to divert the conversation. He restarted his march, too, hoping the exercise would calm any potentially aggravated nerves. Mica glared at him a moment longer, then ran to catch up. Her anger evaporated, and she was back in good spirits after a few short strides. Clearly, she enjoyed imparting knowledge.

"Well, one particular danger is known as the doppelganger," she explained while struggling to keep pace with Bram's wider steps. "They use magic to take on different shapes, based on reading the minds of their victims. Their visions invoke powerful sadness or fear, and when the victim is properly weakened, the spawn will attack. However, a person of strong will can ignore their magic and reach the crevasse unscathed."

Bram shot her a sideways glance. "Have you ever faced this challenge yourself?"

Mica hesitated before shaking her head.

"Are you sure you're prepared?"

Mica's face turned petulant. "I will have you know that it is considered a great honor to be allowed on this pilgrimage to the Oracle's sacred grounds. It means the Elder trusts me to return victoriously, and I do not intend to disappoint him!"

Bram inhaled deeply, feeling the sting of Mica's stare. He had not intended to undermine her convictions, but how could he not be concerned to see a young and inexperienced novice thrown into such a dangerous situation? He cursed the Elder for being so callous, but also admonished himself for driving her to anger twice in so short a time.

He lowered his voice, hoping to sound contrite. "I didn't mean to imply that you weren't capable, Mica. I just wanted to make sure that we're prepared."

The priestess's face turned repentant. "And I did not mean to sound indignant, Bram. You do not understand our customs, so it was wrong of me to snap at you."

Bram sighed, shaking his head. The whole situation felt wrong, a backward tradition in bad need of revision. "You don't owe me an apology. I've committed unforgiveable crimes, and deserve the scorn of your people. If not for my pride, I'd humbly guide you to your destination, rather than provoke your anger. I'm the one who should apologize."

Mica's face melted with compassion. "Nothing is unforgiveable, Bram. Our society teaches mercy and absolution, no matter what crime you commit! Some of the villagers forget sometimes—like they did yesterday—but the priesthood exists to remind them."

Bram knew that Mica meant well, but she was not like the others. She might have had the purity of heart necessary to forgive any crime, but she was just a single lamb among a much larger and worldly flock. The Gaian creed might preach mercy, but the high priests would not be so lenient.

Mica smiled, as if privy to his thoughts. "Let me tell you a story, Bram. Did you know that both darkness and light live within each of us? Nature consists of creation and destruction, and life cannot exist without both forces."

Earlier, Bram would have rolled his eyes, but he was beginning to despise his own arrogance. He was determined to at least pay Mica the respect of listening to her story.

"Yes," he stated. "You speak of the forces behind white and black magic. Life and rebirth come from the white side, while the black side enables destruction. Some call it Yin and Yang."

Mica raised her eyebrows. "You are well taught," she concurred. "Many schools of magic teach it that way, but the Gaian faith is different. We believe it to be more of an overlap, rather than two distinct forces. For example, consider a fire in the middle of a wooded forest. It can cause incredible destruction, but from the ashes, new plants will sprout—ones which would not have survived otherwise due to the larger trees blocking out the light. And then the animal life will return and prosper, because they feed on all the new plants. Only from the initial destruction of a forest fire can a new ecosystem be born."

Bram thought about it for a bit. "That makes sense, but how do you relate that back to magic?"

Mica continued, the patient teacher she was. "The example was a metaphor to illustrate how nature mirrors the cosmic forces behind white and black magics. From destruction comes life, and similarly, the life-giving and protective abilities of white magic also have the power to extinguish it."

Bram was surprised. "How so?"

Mica smiled. "For example, white wizards know how to manipulate the flow of white magic to make a person lighter than air. Imagine if I were to lift you to the top of those trees over there, and then end my spell. Most likely, you would fall to your death, just as easily as any black wizard burning your flesh with words of fire."

Bram started to see Mica's point, but was curious if the opposite also held true. "What about black magic? If white magic can lead to destruction, how would a black wizard use his or her spells to prolong life?"

Mica thought about it for a moment. "Consider the use of a flame spell to warm the womb of a mother giving birth. If done in the right way, it can ease the child-bearing process, and bring a new life into the world. As another example, our village uses black magic to freeze our food supplies, thereby prolonging their shelf life. By doing so, we can feed more refugees without expanding into the woodlands."

Bram found himself smiling. "That's a very novel idea. It would save a lot of Angkor's grain stores from spoilage." As he considered it, he thought back to the start of Mica's story. "Pardon the segue, but what does all this have to do with me?"

Mica put her index finger in the air. "Indeed, I have a point to all this, Bram. I noticed how you sometimes let your emotions get the better of you. You have a past filled with anger and regret … I just wanted to show you that there is still hope."

For some reason, Bram felt a fury rise up within him, and he did not know why. Perhaps it was because Mica opened a wound that he had applied so much effort toward sealing shut. He did not want to expose those dormant but no less volatile feelings to this young and untrained priestess. He was used to hiding them away and keeping them buried. He felt exposed, and embarrassed, and it instinctively made him want to lash out.

"You don't know me!" he challenged. "You'll never understand what I've gone through, or what I've done! If you knew half of it, you'd not want anything more to do with me!"

Mica was not deterred. She studied the inflamed former Gnostic, eyes steadfast, full of compassionate, and resolute. "I am not trying to define or categorize you, Bram. I know nothing of you as an individual. Even so, I did overhear your conversation with the Elder, and I happen to have run across Gnostic Knights in my past."

Bram's body tensed, but Mica continued.

"When I was a child, they came to my village and burnt it to the ground. Somehow, I survived, even though my parents did not. I may not know your unique past, but I know enough about Gnostic Knights to understand the kinds of missions you must have performed."

Bram's heart sank. Learning that Mica's parents had died by fire already hit close to home—but realizing the Knighthood had been the cause almost knocked him off his feet. In fact, he wondered if he might have been one of the knights in that unit. He remembered the incendiary campaigns wrought against Koban villages during the War, but the flames of one battle blurred with all the others. He may have even crossed paths with a young Koban girl, orphaned by his actions. He tried to think back, but the pain of the memories was crushing. He drove the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to hold back the deluge of grief.

"Bram," she called his name to get his attention. "You must not hate yourself for your past deeds. The point of my metaphors was to show you that darkness and light are intertwined in our hearts. Sometimes, when faced with difficult choices, we do what we think is right at the time, only to regret it later. But it is never too late to seek redemption, or to set things right. Even if you were involved, I want you to know … _please_ know … that I forgive you—and I pray that someday, you may forgive yourself."

Mica's profound gift stunned the pained former knight. Breath retreated from his lungs, and his body tingled. He did not realize how much his guilt had affected him until it was suddenly gone. He wondered how it was possible that a few simple words could release all of the accumulated tension and stress, but the dark iron chains that had shackled his heart were instantly cut away. Finally—mercifully—he could breathe easier. He unconsciously clutched his chest, amazed at how good it felt.

He had misjudged the young priestess, thinking her naïve. But truly, her wisdom humbled even the world-weary former Gnostic. He mustered a few words, grossly inadequate by comparison. "Thank you … and please, forgive me for doubting you."

Mica smiled, marking her acceptance of Bram's sincerity. She shared a single tear, but quickly wiped it away. Bram felt awkward, realizing that he and Mica stood in silence on the Ancient Minoan road. That was when, off to the side, he caught sight of a plant he recognized.

He grinned, enlightened by what appeared to be a sign meant just for him. He bent down and reached for it, gently brushing the dust off its weathered leaves.

"What is it?" Mica wondered.

"A chance for me to impart some knowledge unto you," he answered.

"Really? Can I see?" Mica craned her neck, looking eager.

Bram dug around the plant, exposing its root. "See this? It's a special kind of root, favored by wild viscars. It means there's probably a grove nearby."

"_Wild_ viscar?" Mica asked with wide eyes. "I thought they were all in captivity."

"Not all of them," Bram responded. "They're rare, but you can find them if you know where to look. I was fortunate enough to learn about these groves from a friend."

Bram thought about Quon Nan, yet another ally who had been taken by the enemy. Bram wondered if the Kenju Master still lived—but even if he did, his lifespan would be limited by the amount of time it took to extract every last bit of information. Bram was familiar with the remainder of his cohorts still in command. They would not hesitate to execute Quon as an example for others who would dare cross them. Bram put his sadness and anger aside, wanting instead to give his attention to Mica.

She clapped her hands together joyfully. "It is a true blessing! Riding viscar would allow us to reach the crevasse a whole day earlier."

"Only if we're lucky," Bram corrected. He showed Mica how to find more roots. He then led her off the road, in search for the grove. Eventually, he came across a large clearing.

With the vegetables in hand, he moved slowly toward the center of the clearing and waited. After a few minutes of silence, one of the majestic creatures emerged from behind some trees. Wild viscars innately distrusted humans, but the sweet smell of their favorite root was enough to overcome their inhibitions. The creature walked up and ate the offering right out of Bram's hand. As its sharp-toothed jaw crunched on the first helping, Bram produced another.

With a flutter of its pointed ears, the viscar made itself comfortable on the soft forest floor, eating the rest of its tuberous gift. Once full and content with Bram's presence, the viscar allowed him to climb on its back.

Bram urged Mica to try it for herself. On the first attempt, she impatiently advanced toward the gentle creature, causing it to back up several steps. But with some coaxing and patience, the viscar returned to eat her offering.

Bram gave Mica a few suggestions on the best posture to travel without a saddle. Once she seemed comfortably seated, the two returned to the main road and headed toward the crevasse.


	75. Chapter 6: Part VIII

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* * *

**Part VIII**

_Afternoon of Denuo, Twenty-Fourth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

After his fourth conference with Samir of the Saladina Clan Lords, Géorg Töller felt optimistic. He had been able to negotiate the acquisition of half a dozen completed airships. When combined with Kitezh's current forces, it made a fleet of fourteen. If carefully executed, this ragtag flotilla would suffice to stage an attack on Angkor.

However, the negotiations themselves were not so simple. Samir demanded generous compensation for the risk of exposing himself as an enemy to Angkor. Fortunately, King Unruh offered his full support, and the project was given all the necessary funding. Géorg witnessed more money exchange hands in one short meeting than he had seen in his entire life. The airships would be retooled and qualified to run in top condition, leaving only the task of training the men who would pilot them into battle.

Lady White supervised the sessions—a second source to fortify the strength of the magical communications link—but Géorg had led the discussions. He had also become proficient in learning how to cast many of the spells himself. He felt a bit like Lady White's apprentice, and was fascinated by the knowledge and complexity behind the process.

As he prepared to leave, he felt her light touch on his shoulder. "Do not depart just yet, Mister Töller. There is one more matter I would like to discuss with you."

Géorg spine tingled with trepidation, somehow sensing the nature of the topic. "You mean Lady Black's visions?"

Smiling, she motioned for him to sit. "Please."

She scattered a bit of green flakes from one of the pouches tied around her waist, and a chair materialized out of thin air. Géorg accepted the offer, and Lady White joined him in a second chair that also spontaneously appeared. He took a deep breath, delighted each time he was able to experience her art, while herbal scents wafted to his nose from the lingering spell components.

"First," Lady White began, "I must reiterate the need for confidentiality. Lady Black and I both believe that speculation over her visions would lead to widespread distress among the people. We must focus our efforts on the counter-attack against Angkor."

Géorg nodded. He and Konrad had already accepted that the visions would need to remain with them. Lady White continued.

"Second, on the subject of yours and Mister Rommel's visions, we feel they are up to you to interpret. We decided not to involve King Unruh, since the visions are ambiguous, and therefore inactionable. Further, we risk jumping to the wrong conclusions. More importantly, there's always a chance of rumors any time more people are involved. The last thing we need is a nation divided over whether or not we will become a divided nation."

"Agreed, my Lady," Géorg affirmed as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. In the vision, he and Konrad were at opposite sides of a civil war. Though he had no power to change that future, he hoped he could prevent it from leading to violence. It was a heavy burden to realize that the truth behind the visions would only be known by him, Konrad, and the two eminent spell-casters. And if Konrad truly ended up on the opposite side, Géorg might have to carry that burden alone.

At the same time, his stomach grew ever more tense at the approaching subject he knew Lady White would soon broach. Sure enough, her lips tightened and her chin rose, casting darkening shadows over her face. The silence up until her first words was terrifyingly ominous.

"Now … let us discuss the final vision."

Géorg, eager yet fearful to hear what she had learned, clenched his teeth and balled his left hand into a fist. Though it was an old muscle memory, he could almost feel his missing right hand doing the same thing.

Lady White continued. "To begin with, the vision showed an object resembling a distant tower, which Lady Black and I found to be both intriguing and perplexing. As far as we know, no such structure exists on this planet. However, we were able to find some old texts that refer to something similar. Mister Töller, are you familiar with the Omega War?"

Géorg blinked, wondering if he might have misheard. "You mean the one from the children's tales?"

"Correct," Lady White replied succinctly. "The tales tell of four demons known as the Ahrimen. In one version, it describes a citadel whose height defied all notions of physical form and scale. It is said that this 'tower' reached up to the Heavens, acting as a pathway to the Divine."

Géorg shook his head, feeling the need to interject. "Lady White, you do not seriously think that Lady Black's vision has anything to do with … _fairytales_ taking place a thousand years ago."

"No need to be so glib, Mister Töller," Lady White stated in a reproachful tone. "Many old tales hold grains of historical truth."

"But you said so yourself," Géorg protested. "There is no sign of this tower, and even if it had existed at one time, we would have surely seen evidence in the form of ruins—especially for something so massive!"

"Patience, Mister Töller," Lady White scolded. "Hear me out before you close your mind."

Géorg clamped his mouth shut and nodded. Lady White played the role of a schoolteacher in the process of reprimanding a rambunctious student for interrupting her lecture. After a moment or two of casting the authoritative glare of a headmistress, she continued.

"The absence of evidence is only one of the problems with this theory, Mister Töller—but put that aside for a moment. Here is where it gets interesting. The tower had a name; it was called _Axismundi_. Besides containing a pathway to the Heavens, the old texts described certain 'life-sustaining properties' that it was able to provide to the planet. Mankind defended the tower from the four Ahrimen, but the old text claimed that if the demons ever succeeded in corrupting the tower, it would have had life-threatening consequences. Plagues running rampant across the land, rivers and oceans drying up into sand-beds—even the air itself becoming toxic and unbreathable. Any of this sound familiar, Mister Töller?"

For a moment, it seemed like the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room. As Géorg listened, he hearkened back to his memories of the vision. Lady White's descriptions were horrifyingly similar, and he felt like he was suffocating.

"So what are you saying?" he demanded, short of breath. "That Lady Black has predicted the return of Axismundi, as well as these demons? Is our demise inevitable?"

"Not so fast," Lady White corrected quickly. "We must remember that no such tower exists in our time, nor have we seen any evidence of its ruins. Lady Black and I have developed several hypotheses to explain this discrepancy."

Géorg leaned close, eager to hear the conclusion.

"The first is the possibility that Lady Black's vision does not involve our planet in the first place."

Géorg's jaw just about hit the floor. "You mean there are other planets?"

"As surely as there are other stars," Lady White responded.

Géorg's head was spinning. "Astounding … I had no idea."

Lady White gave him no time to mull over the mind-blowing revelations. "Second—just because we know of no such structure today, it does not mean it will not exist in our future."

Géorg tried to pull his head out of the clouds. "The future? How do you reconcile that with the children's tales that supposedly date back to the distant past?"

"That is precisely the point," Lady White agreed. "Connecting the timeline is the problem with this theory. However, it does not preclude the possibility that this enormous structure defies time or space itself."

Géorg took another deep breath, ready to have his mind blown again. "What do you mean?"

Lady White sighed. "I am afraid this is where speculation gets tricky, Mister Töller. Lady Black and I are experts in our field, but there are many undiscovered aspects of magic. Many scholars agree that we—as human beings—have only scratched the surface of what is possible, meaning that mysteries like Axismundi might simply be beyond our current understanding. It is possible that the structure travels through time, or perhaps it disappears and reappears at will. All we know is that some old records claim that it had existed at one time—records that are dubious at best, since they were turned into tales meant for children. And yet, the world's most renowned diviner has produced a vision that could very well foretell its reappearance."

Géorg closed his eyes to stop the spinning. These wizard's theories were going nowhere. "Does all this mean you still do not have an answer?"

Lady White sighed. "I am afraid not, Mister Töller. But I should point out, there is one more possibility."

Géorg felt a headache coming. "What would that be?"

"That Lady Black's vision was an anomaly," Lady White responded. "It could have been a nightmare, or a daydream, or anything else other than a premonition. In other words, it might be nothing at all."

Géorg was at a complete loss. "But you have said that Lady Black is never wrong," he countered. "We cannot just ignore it!"

"I do not disagree, Mister Töller, but spurious or not, it is not our top priority at the moment."

"What do you mean?" Géorg pressed.

"Do not forget our immediate concern," she admonished. "We must focus on the fight against Angkor. To that end, we should postpone our investigation, at least until such time when our lives are not in immediate danger!"

Géorg sighed. "You are right. We cannot spend time chasing down theories about a forgotten tower, when the enemy is at our door. Even so, we should still keep our eyes and ears open for any new leads."

Lady White agreed. "I shall continue my work with Lady Black to reconstruct the details of the vision. Unlocking the mind of a diviner is not easy, even when the subject is willing. She may very well hold some undiscovered secrets, but it will take time to fully uncover. If we learn anything new, I will send for you. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, of course, my Lady. Have you talked to Konrad about this, yet?"

Lady White nodded. "Yes, Mister Rommel and I have already spoken, and he very nearly suggested the same thing."

Géorg felt better knowing that his friend wanted to follow the same course of action. With nothing else left to say, he bid the eminent white wizard farewell.

She smiled, and he bowed politely before leaving the room. The air still felt heavy, and thoughts of towers and demons circled around his mind. Lady White was right about containing the rumors about Lady Black's visions. The Kitezhian people had to focus on the counter-attack against Angkor. It _had_ to succeed.

Géorg headed for Konrad's apartments. At least he could take comfort from his friend, if nothing else.


	76. Chapter 6: Part IX

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* * *

**Part IX**

_Afternoon of Denuo, Twenty-Fourth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

When Bram first set his gaze upon the cliffs of the Great Crevasse, he was taken aback by its grandeur. From his vantage point atop a nearby hill, it looked as if the plains had been split in two. A wide canyon of deep red earth snaked across the arid landscape. Shadows cast by the afternoon sun gave it the appearance of a crooked grin, making Bram wonder if the world were mocking him.

"Is it not majestic?" Mica proclaimed, craning her neck from her seat atop the viscar.

"It is," Bram agreed absently, humbled by the awe-inspiring panorama.

"This is as close as I have ever been," she admitted, "but I know the path to the Oracle is over there, to the south." She pointed to the far end of the crevasse.

Bram nodded and directed his viscar in that direction.

While on the backs of these mounts, the trek across the Ancient Minoan road had been an easy one, but as they neared their destination, the terrain turned treacherous. The lush vegetation had slowly transitioned to a parched and barren landscape, and the path finally ended. Sharp rocks jutted out of the earth, and the viscars could no longer carry their passengers with sure footing. So Bram decided to set them loose, offering the creatures the remaining roots from his travel bag as a parting gift. The viscars ate and departed.

He was eager to hike the rest of the way, but noticed Mica wearily dragging her feet. He figured she would have a better chance of keeping pace if they took a short break. "We should eat and rest up," he suggested. "We'll still have time to reach the base by evening."

She looked thankful. Bram smiled as she earnestly unpacked the fruits and cornbread that the Elder had given her. Only the most novice of travelers hungered after just half a day of riding. A few weeks earlier, it would have bothered him to be held up by her pace, but now he found it endearing.

Before joining her, he excused himself to survey the area for spawn. The rocky foothills above the crevasse seemed peaceful, but there was something haunting—menacing even—hidden beyond the periphery. He readied his short sword that the Elder had provided him and patrolled the camp in a circular pattern.

A short distance away, he found himself in a rocky depression filled with large stone columns carved into abstractly wavy curvatures from centuries of wind erosion. In between the rocky pathways, he thought he saw a young woman. She appeared only briefly, right at the edge of his vision, wearing white robes in a fashion similar to the priestesses in Minoa.

There should not have been anyone else in the area, so he decided to track her path while maintaining a brisk and steady pace. She moved quickly, weaving in and out between boulders and brush. Bram struggled to keep up, wondering if she were intentionally leading him away from the camp site. If so, he intended to cut the chase short. He saw her duck behind a rock outcropping, but rather than follow along the same path, he backtracked a bit to circle around from the other side. His plan worked, but when he caught up to her, he was taken by surprise.

He knew the woman. Several weeks earlier, she had been in the meditation room in the temple of Minoa, the day he had broken inside to take the sunstone. One of his men had been driven by Virgil's powerful spell of compulsion to cut her down with his sword. She should have been dead, but instead stood before him, her wound leaking streaks of dark crimson down the front of her robes. Her eyes were wide and vacant, staring directly at him—or perhaps right through him. He inched backwards, step by furtive step, until he heard the sound of pebbles rolling behind him.

He spun around, only to face an older gentleman whom he also knew to be dead. But it was years ago, during the War, when he was forced to perform horrific deeds best left forgotten. In one case, he had been commanded to burn fringe villages along the Koban border, in order to divert attention away from advancing enemy forces—much like the campaigns responsible for killing Mica's parents. In many such villages, old farmers had attempted to defend their homes, but those who fought back were cut down as bloody examples to others.

This particular man had attacked Bram with nothing more than a pitchfork. Bram had no desire to hurt a practically defenseless peasant, but the man was persistent. Bram had merely meant to knock him unconscious with the hilt of his sword, but sadly, the farmer tried to dodge the weapon and attack from the side. What had been intended as a scare tactic turned into a full blown duel.

Bram's blade merely nicked the man's ear, but it was enough to send the black sword's toxins coursing through the farmer's body. Bram instinctively wanted to call for aid from the white wizards, but stopped short. He knew that Angkor disciplined their soldiers severely whenever they attempted to help the enemy—even when it came to civilians. He was forced to watch as the sword's poison did its work, killing the man slowly as he bellowed in pain. Even worse, his widow and children wailed nearby, faces drenched in frightful tears. Bram had tried to repress the terrible experience, but seeing the man's blackened and rotted ear served as a vivid reminder of what he had done.

His legs weakened, and his heart ached with guilt and remorse. Tears streamed from his eyes as men and women from his past gathered in the clearing, each with familiar yet horrifying faces. He had murdered so many during the War, and it suddenly occurred to him how many had been innocent villagers. So much suffering … so much pain … all from his own hands!

It must have been hard for Quon Nan and Zhao Peng to trust him, not to mention Józef Brandt, Konrad Rommel, and no doubt many others. Gnostic Knights were the distilled essence of fear and loathing in the world, and Bram despised himself for being a part of their horrific organization. No amount of power was worth so much harm—so much death—to achieve. No wonder Virgil had initially expected him to be a willing lapdog.

Behind him, his escape route was now gone. His back was flat against the face of a cliff, with nowhere else left to go. Fear and self-revilement paralyzed him. To his left was a woman who had been with child when he attacked her. She had snuck up on one of his comrades with a knife, and he had been forced to judge her life against one of his own men. It was an instant of snap judgment, but his decision cruelly ended two lives at once. To his right was an adolescent boy who had taken up his father's sword in a vain attempt for vengeance. Ahead, a woman with long white hair … Uriana's mother.

He was frozen—petrified—as more of his malicious memories entered the clearing. Their blank visages horrified him to his very core. They were the damned and forlorn, creatures he had created, baring blackened teeth—ready to consume his flesh. His sword fell to the ground. He closed his eyes, burying his head in his hands. The emotions trawling in his soul's abyss for so long suddenly surged to the surface. He screamed, sank to his knees, voice hoarse and wretched.

An explosion—loud and abrupt—jarred him back to his senses. He opened his eyes to witness the nearby brush burst into flames, igniting any dead who happened to be nearby. A second blast erupted in a blinding flash, scattering the nightmares in all directions. Some of them grabbed the charred remains of their brethren. Before he could pull himself together, none of the bodies remained.

Bram's heart raced. He stood up quickly and scanned the area, trying to make sense of what had happened. Standing in front of him was a gray robed figure, carrying a familiar-looking walking stick. Bram blinked several times, wondering if it was another vision from his past.

"Matthias?" he choked, his throat still raw from screeching. "Is it really you … or are you one of _them_?"

"Don't say another word," the gray wizard cut him off. "I don't want to know what you saw from those … _things_."

Bram understood. "Those were the doppelgangers." He used his sleeve to quickly wipe away the wetness ebbing from his eyes.

"Yeah … nasty vermin, too." Matthias looked weary. The spell-casting must have drained him.

"What are you doing here?" Bram finally asked, at a loss for other words.

"I should ask you the same thing," the gray wizard pointed to Bram's civilian clothes. "From the look of things, it appears you're once again incognito."

Bram sighed, knowing that the old man had no context of the terrible things that had happened to him since leaving Rungholt. "It's complicated," he summarized glibly. "I'm actually here to take someone to see the Oracle." His heart raced as he suddenly remembered Mica. "My companion … she's back at the campsite! If the doppelgangers find her—"

"I'll come, too," Matthias offered. "I can help."

"Good—quickly now!"

Both men raced down the path, backtracking through the rocks and brush. Just as Bram arrived, he came face to face with a giant spider. The creature raised its front legs menacingly, heavy beads of venom dripping from its maw. Bram back-stepped and rolled to the side, just in time to avoid an attack. When he was back on his feet, he readied his sword, but just as he had an opportunity to strike, the doppelganger turned and fled.

There were others, but they also ran off when he and Matthias rushed into the clearing. He found Mica huddled fearfully near a large boulder.

Upon seeing Bram, she dusted herself off and stood up. "Thank Gaia!" she exclaimed. "Those were the doppelgangers I was telling you about. You see, I'm deathly afraid of spiders, and—oh, who are you?"

The priestess made eye contact with Matthias, who greeted her back with a gracious bow. "My name is Matthias Deleuze, my dear … but you may call me _Matthias, the Gray_."

Mica's eyes went wide with excitement, her fears quickly forgotten. "Great Gaia! My Vinetan friends have told me so much about you. They say you can cast both white and black magic. I have never met anyone who can do that!"

Mica's flattery seemed to pair well with the gray wizard's ego. He was practically gushing. "Well … it's just a little trick of mine." He cleared his throat, apparently realizing how he must have sounded. He tried once again, this time much more reserved. "So, Bram tells me you're headed to the Oracle. It just so happens that I seek his wisdom as well. If you don't mind, I'd like to accompany you for a short time."

Mica turned to Bram in the way a pleading child turns toward a parent. "The Elder did not specify we go alone. Do you think we could ask Master Deleuze to join us?"

"It's your call," Bram advised her.

Matthias shot him a sideways glance, suggesting the comment took him by surprise.

Mica thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "I say we do it! Besides, he can help us if we run into the doppelgangers again. Oh yeah, and by the way, my name is Mica."

The Gaian priestess-in-training made her proper introduction, and before long, the three were ready to continue their journey.


	77. Chapter 6: Part X

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* * *

**Part X**

_Afternoon of Denuo, Twenty-Fourth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

During the early days of the War, Angkor captured numerous enemy soldiers to interrogate for new intelligence. However, finding a place to keep them all became a challenge. The jails aboveground were soon overcrowded, and it was difficult to find enough competent guardsmen to watch over them. This was especially true when all the most able-bodied men were moved to the front lines. The only viable solution was to move the prison system to an area where the prisoners would be more confined, and would require fewer men on duty.

To accomplish this, King Richard ordered his black wizards to tunnel deep into the Substratum, where they created a series of sprawling tunnels that became known as the Catacombs. This maze of complex passages included twists and turns designed to confuse escaped prisoners, so that any man foolish enough to breach his cell would go mad wondering the tunnels before ever breathing fresh air again.

Most of the recaptured prisoners were tortured as a lesson to others, but in rare cases, the men were never found. They were presumed dead from starvation, but the guards were never willing to conduct an exhaustive search, for fear of getting lost themselves. The bodies lingered, and some believed their ghosts still haunted the stygian pathways.

Of course, Cedric Curtis tried not to think of that as he wandered through the damp stone halls, blinded by pitch darkness. After escaping his cell, he did not hesitate to seek freedom. He did not know the path, but he held onto the strong belief that his wits would be enough to outsmart the tunnel's creators.

He had nothing to light his way. The candle from his cell had burnt all the way down, covering his fingers in waxy residue moments before it went out. Without it, visibility was zero, and the only way forward was by smacking the walls with a wooden plank that he had previously dislodged from the frame of his cot. The frosty air chilled his bones, and his bare feet felt each agonizing step. He strained to see the first sliver of light that would signal his proximity to the exit, but his hopes were dashed at every turn. Blackness enveloped him.

He had already wandered for hours, possibly days. A couple of times he had dozed off against the wall, overcome with exhaustion. He never knew how much time had passed, but he awoke to find himself driven by hunger and thirst. If only he could reach the Substratum's central stairwell, he could descend to the hangar and escape via aircraft. Unlike most prisoners, Cedric was a fine pilot.

Occasionally, his foot brushed against an object that he hoped was not a dead body from years past. He kept on moving, forcing his mind to picture the layout of twists and turns. He could not afford to dwell in fear, but it was hard to remain focused, disoriented as he was from hunger and lack of sleep. He had to think positively and remain vigilant if he ever wanted to be free of Angkor for good. It was his duty to escape and warn others about King Richard's mad ambitions.

He found it ironic that not so long ago, he had been content with his complacency. He spent an entire lifetime working hard, hoping one day to retire a wealthy man. He was accustomed to the lifestyle and comfort, and greedily protected his future. It made it that much easier for Richard to manipulate him into advancing the Zounds project. Cedric was ashamed he had not put more faith in Rosa or Bram, but hopefully they had made it safely to Kitezh. If he ever escaped, he vowed to seek them there.

But first, he had to find a way out. And to do that, he needed to outsmart a floor plan specifically designed by magical scholars to confuse escaped prisoners. He could not follow the walls, because they were built to go in circles. Neither could he travel by instinct, because the passages often doubled back, or ended up far off course. His brilliant mind endeavored to track each turn, so that mentally, he might envision a map to the exit. But he was tired and malnourished, unable to focus.

Weary and frustrated, he sagged against the wall, banging his fists into the stone behind him. He had not tasted water in so long. His mouth yearned for a mere drop. It would not be much longer until he joined the others who had perished—another casualty, lost and forgotten. At least in death, he would ensure that Angkor would never complete the Zounds airship. Somehow, that provided a modicum of comfort.

Discouraged, but at least clinging to one happy thought, he rose to his feet and pressed on. As he passed the next corner, his spirits surged as he noticed the smallest sliver of light. Was it just his imagination? A mirage borne of pure desperation?

His heart lurched and he ran forward, following the sliver as it grew with every turn. With his eyes so accustomed to the dark, the glimmer became a beacon. He turned left, then right, and then right again—

He scarcely believed his luck! Miraculously, he ran into the corridor with the burning torches, which beckoned him to salvation. He almost ran straight through the archway until he heard someone clapping from behind.

"Congratulations, Mister Curtis," a voice announced in step with sarcastic applause. "So few prisoners ever make it this far, but I had a good feeling you would."

Cedric's elation sunk even faster than it had risen. Of all the sadistically cruel monsters to cross his path, he had run headfirst into the king's First Advisor, Virgil Garvey. Cedric turned to face him, noticing that Virgil's face was gaunter than usual—almost stretched and wan, as if his skull had changed shape. The dim torches cast menacing shadows across his jawline, creating a frightening visage.

"Did you really think you would outlive your usefulness, Mister Curtis?" the man asked with a faintest hint of anger penetrating his calm exterior. "We had an agreement."

"You're a sick man, Mister Garvey," Cedric rasped from a dry mouth, "and I've had enough! You don't scare me."

Virgil bared sharp rows of teeth. "You should be scared!" he roared in a voice that no longer sounded human. Cedric recoiled, paralyzed with fear and unable to breathe. He backed against the far wall, watching as Virgil's face bubbled and warped from beneath the skin, slowly peeling away to reveal muscle and bone—pure terror piecing Cedric's very soul!

All he could do was utter a voiceless squeal. Then, as if it were all just an illusion, Virgil's face returned to normal.

"Wh—what kind of sorcery is this?" Cedric demanded in a panicked voice. "More evil from the sunstones?"

Virgil ignored the question and reached into his coat pocket. Cedric felt an invisible force pick him up and slam him against the wall, sending shockwaves throughout his body. Again he was thrust back, causing his head to slam against the hard stone, right in the crown. He struggled, but the grip was iron tight. Virgil approached, standing right in Cedric's face.

"I told you you'd be sorry if you ever crossed me," Virgil threatened, his voice once again human, though no less terrifying.

Cedric squirmed, his gut clenched with fear. "Please, I'll go back to my cell … I promise!"

Virgil stared him down, black pupils aflame, searing their grotesque image permanently into Cedric's mind. "The time for bargaining is over, Mister Curtis. You _will_ be going back to your cell—but first, I'll make sure this is the _last_ you ever waste my time."

Virgil snapped his fingers, and out of the darkness marched two guardsmen, each of them as large as the one who had whipped Adam Eckerd. They grabbed Cedric by the arms and dragged him along the floor. He tried to struggle, but the men easily overpowered him. He screamed, but his throat was dry and constricted. They took him through a number of corridors until he found himself in a room that he recognized with pure dread.

"Oh Gaia—no, please!" he beseeched. "Don't torture me, I beg you!" His voice barely had the strength to speak. A warm liquid ran down his legs as fear overpowered him.

"Please … _please!_" he babbled as the men stripped him of his clothes and strapped his arms and legs into iron clasps set upon a large stone slab. They needed no direction, performing their tasks with zombie-like movements. Their eyes glowed blue as they chanted repeatedly.

"Ah-reh-men … ah-reh-men …."

The incessant chanting was maddening. Cedric watched in horror as the jailor whom he detested entered the room with a large hammer, aimed directly at his bare legs.

"_Please_—" the craftsman whispered between the tears, but his next words never made it out. The jailor swung the hammer into Cedric's left foot, shattering the bones to pieces.

Cedric bellowed something in between a choke and a gurgle. The pain was more than he could have possibly imagined, but his throat was too hoarse to emote. It took just a moment for the jailor to ready a second swing. Cedric shook his head violently, trying to protest, but the hammer went down, regardless. It struck the right foot, twisting the ankle and ripping the tendons.

Every muscle in Cedric's body tensed as he cried out, a blood vessel bursting in his eye, leaking red matter into his vision. He hurt so excruciatingly, but even as he twisted, his body was held by the restraints. It was so unbearable that the world was drowned out completely. No sights … no sounds … just hot … red … liquid pain.

_Mister Curtis …_.

The voice that he detested taunted him from afar.

_I can take away the pain, Mister Curtis …_.

Cedric barely heard the voice over the heat and blood that beat between his ears. He no longer recognized the room around him. Everything swam in a sea of agony. He barely felt the hand that grabbed his chin, forcing him to look ahead. He somewhat saw Virgil's face behind a red and blurry smear.

_Mister Curtis, do not let me lose patience with you again!_

From what seemed like a vast distance, Virgil Garvey's voice pierced his mind.

_Only say the word, Mister Curtis, and I'll end the pain_.

"Yes! The pain!" He wanted it to end more than anything. He promised to obey.

At once, his blood flowed thinner, and the pain dulled. He could see and hear once again, but he was exhausted, drenched in sweat and urine. He slumped in his restraints.

"Very wise decision, Mister Curtis," Virgil said. "I'm afraid you won't ever be walking again, but I trust it will discourage you from any further attempts to escape."

Cedric looked down at his feet and saw black swollen masses where his ankles had been. Virgil's dark wizardry had mended the bones and flesh into some twisted kind of malformation.

But he was too tired to protest. It would have done no good, anyway. He simply relaxed his muscles and let the guards drag him back to his cell. Once he had time to rest, Virgil would expect him to work on his design. Zounds would be completed, after all, it seemed. And Cedric would not argue with Mister Garvey, _ever_ again.


	78. Chapter 6: Part XI

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* * *

**Part XI**

_Evening of Denuo, Twenty-Fourth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

By the time Bram reached the base of The Great Crevasse, dusk was settling. As Mica foretold, a thin path led downward from the southern edge. It wound around the inside, disappearing into darkness. Bram suggested waiting until morning to descend, so he and the others set up camp.

Fortunately, the doppelgangers no longer bothered anyone. Matthias explained that their magic was not as effective on the same person a second time. Even so, Bram found it troubling that a species of spawn could prey on a person's fears and transform into the very thing that weakens them the most. If some spawn had that power, could others track a person's location without being noticed, by turning into a hawk and flying overhead? Could they be smart enough to lay an ambush?

According to Matthias, spawn were not that cunning. They had the power to look like other animals or humans, but in the end, they were still no more than creatures with beast-like instincts. But even so, Bram knew that the Ahrimen were different. They possessed a terrifying intelligence, wielding powers far beyond mortal understanding. Matthias still had no idea about the true dangers threatening the world.

Bram thought about the infernal demons while building a fire against the tiny bit of remaining daylight. He was anxious to reach the Oracle and move on. While gathering firewood, he tried to figure out how to catch up on lost time.

When he returned, he saw that Mica had already fallen asleep. He gazed upon her fondly, his worries soon replaced with sadness at the thought of her parents, who never had an opportunity to watch her grow up. In a way, she reminded him of Uriana, another orphan who was robbed of the chance for a normal childhood. Bram still felt pity for Uriana, and he longed to find her, wherever she was. He hoped she was not frightened, or lonely. Perhaps, like Mica, she would survive and thrive with a whole new life. Bram only hoped he would one day see her again.

At the edge of his vision, Matthias beckoned him toward the campfire. The old wizard used his magic to lift one of Bram's logs, bringing it close to the flame and turning it into a makeshift seat. Bram had wanted to speak with the gray wizard and catch up on the last few weeks. In the calmness of the cool night air, next to the crackling fire, it finally seemed like the right time.

"So, Mister Morrison," he addressed politely. "Why don't you join me, and we can have a long overdue chat?" Absent was the usual gruffness and crudity. He tapped the log to his side, inviting Bram to sit.

Bram obliged, thinking a bit about how he might begin. But as he sat, the thoughts multiplied. So much had happened in the last few weeks, creating a slurry of tragedy and horror in his head. Words escaped him.

"How about I start?" Matthias suggested, for which Bram was grateful. "I usually don't believe in fate, but I found it quite interesting that we happened to be traveling to the Oracle on the same day."

"Yeah," Bram agreed, "I was thinking the same thing."

Matthias stroked his beard, looking pensive. "It's also strangely serendipitous that I was in precisely the right place, at exactly the right time to rescue you from the doppelgangers."

Bram's guard went up, instinctively wanting to defend his honor. But … it was finally time to put an end to his insecurities. With nothing else besides Matthias' thoughtful gaze, the crackling fire, and a choir of chirping crickets, Bram thought about his feelings—his instincts—and realized they all too often stemmed from a fear of appearing weak. At some point, he had to acknowledge his ego, to keep it in check, or else fall victim to the same hubris that fell him as a Knight.

He admitted—silently in his own mind—that if Matthias had not arrived when he did, the doppelgangers would have quickly overwhelmed him. It was a convenient reminder that he had to rely on more than just his own strength to survive. Gnostics were solitary warriors who isolated themselves from the rest of the world—but Bram was ready to cast that aside, and reach out to his friends and companions for support. As for the timing of Matthias' appearance, it was serendipitous for sure, but also a mystery beyond anyone's ability to provide a simple answer.

Perhaps the Goddess had woven the threads of fate so that both men would be within reach when the time was right; or perhaps it was all just a spooky coincidence. Of course, Bram's ability to find providence when needed seemed to be increasingly commonplace, making him wonder ….

He noticed Matthias's steady gaze. The wizard's long pause should have giving him enough time to find a response, but the words were still out of reach.

"Heh, the silent type. I remember that about you," the old man quipped. "Then, allow me. You probably want to know what I've been up to since we separated in Kitezh, right?"

Bram nodded. "Yeah, let's start there."

Matthias took a deep breath. He opened his mouth, then closed it. It seemed he also struggled to find the right words. After a few moments, the old wizard's face contorted in an expression of a fierce internal battle, and he finally blurted it out in a cracked and unsteady voice.

"Where else _can_ I begin?" he lamented. "The first thing I did … was bury my dead daughter."

Bram's heart sank as memories of Angela's death came flooding back. The look on Matthias' face when she died, the heavy pallor over the room, the huge emotional loss—it hit him like a cudgel to the face.

"Well, that's how it was," Matthias stated, clearly responding to Bram's downtrodden look. "I couldn't sleep for days, and my insides felt like acid!"

"Matthias, I'm sorry—"

"Don't be," he insisted, his voice once again steady. "I just want you to know how I felt. So that when I'm finished, you'll know why I'm here."

"You're right," Bram conceded. "Go on."

Matthias took another deep breath. The exhale seemed to calm him. "I spent a week wandering the continent, looking for answers, until I ended up in the Saladina casinos with a mug of mead in one hand and a whore in the other. Problem was, I'm as bad at gambling as I am with the drink. After waking up broke and hung-over a few times, I threw away the liquor."

Matthias sounded like a broken man, and Bram felt that in some ways, he could relate. The day he washed up on the shores of Minoa, he also thought about giving up. It felt like he had lost everything, but Matthias had it far worse. Angela was his only daughter.

The gray wizard continued. "When I finally tired of self-pity, I started asking around, trying to figure out who was responsible for the attack on Rungholt. I figured, whomever it was, I would make them_ pay_ for Angela's death. Those in Saladin didn't know a damn thing, so I did the next best thing. I snuck into Angkor. Now don't look at me crazy, _boy!_ Getting into Angkor is quite easy when you're a wizard!"

Bram leaned back and wiped the surprised look off his face. The idea of sneaking into Angkor seemed so improbable, but if Matthias had managed to do it, perhaps there was hope that he could get Bram inside, too.

The old wizard furrowed his brows. "Now, before I continue, why don't you tell me about what happened to Yuri and Miss Reynolds? Why are you traveling with this girl, Mica?"

Bram figured it must have been the pitiful look on his face, because Matthias seemed to know before he uttered a word. The gray wizard's angry look melted into something gloomy and miserable. "Oh, dear Gaia, no! What happened? Are they dead?"

Bram held his breath, trying to hide his grief. "Rosa was taken by the enemy … and Uriana was lost out at sea." He described Angkor's attack on Tiahuanaco, as well the attack by the legendary monster, Bake-kujira.

Matthias sighed bitterly, wiping away tears of grief with the back of his hands. "Damn. What next? It's a damn pity to have lost such an endearing and talented child."

"She was so much more than that …." Bram wanted to talk about Uriana's kindness and purity of heart, but his emotions got in the way. Instead, he described her magical miracles, such as the melting of ice on Mount Abakai, and defeating the spawn set loose by the Gnostic Knight, Victor.

The gray wizard was awestruck. "Astounding! I saw Yuri's powers with my own eyes when she healed Miss Reynolds, but the other things you describe are beyond convention. Even the most powerful wizards with a lifetime of experience would have difficulty doing what this child has done effortlessly." Matthias stuck his index finger at Bram. "You may think you've lost her, but don't you ever give up looking, you hear me? If _you_ made it this far, I just _know _she's out there somewhere!"

The gray wizard nodded with conviction, leaving Bram with hope. "I'll tell you, Matthias—the idea that Uriana may have survived keeps me going, just like the thought of seeing Rosa one more time. The Knighthood always used to give me purpose, but once I started caring for someone, everything changed. I almost feel like a completely different man."

He glanced over at Matthias, suddenly aware that he had revealed some deeply held secrets—personal reflections he would have never told another man. He felt embarrassed, wanting to reign in the freed emotions. "I'm sorry, I usually don't go on like that."

He swore he saw a twinkle in old man's eye. "You know what, Bram? When I first met you, I didn't think you could ever be trusted. You were insincere and posing as someone you weren't. But now … I think I can say I've misjudged you."

"Matthias, don't misunderstand—"

"Hear me out," the old wizard pressed.

Bram waited, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

"The only two things I've ever loved besides my magic were my wife and my daughter. But now that they're gone, nothing else matters. I bet you feel the same way about the Knighthood."

"Yeah," Bram admitted. He still felt guarded, but the wizard spoke the truth.

"Let me tell you a story," Matthias proposed. "It's about the day Angela was born. I thought it'd be the happiest day of my life. You see, I was already an old man when I married. I'd spent most of my younger years as an academic—always studying to improve my skills. I never thought I'd have room in my life for another person, until I met Angela. That is, Angela's mother—who had the same name. The other Whites told her she was too old to have a child, but we proved them wrong, we did."

Matthias wore a sweet smile when talking about his wife, but it soon soured into a sorrowful grimace. "Unfortunately, there were complications with the pregnancy. Angela needed constant supervision, and the doctors feared a stillbirth. Our village was close to the medical university known as the Nexus, so we had plenty of wizards to tend to these kinds of things. But Angela was older than most other women giving birth, so it was a constant battle."

Matthias paused again to compose himself. Bram listened, cringing as the story neared its climax.

"The contractions came three weeks early, and after discussing it with the other Whites, we deemed it time to induce labor. We thought the worst was behind us, but we were wrong. A clot had formed, and we feared it might pass onto the child. None of us wanted to risk performing surgery on a three week early newborn."

Bram thought about what it must have been like, feeling pains of empathy as if he were in Matthias' place. He imagined looking down at Rosa, suffering in the thrall of a pregnancy complication, two lives hanging in the balance. He felt the pangs of paternal instinct, wanting to reach out, but powerless to do anything. He wept on the inside, filled with anxiety and frustration, until Matthias' voice broke his wandering daydream.

"Angela insisted that we either destroy the clot, or divert it," the old wizard continued, "so naturally, we chose diversion as the least invasive option. Destroying the clot would have required a _very experienced_ black wizard with just the right kind of training. I was a top candidate, but I made the decision to take the less risky approach and ask one of the Whites divert the clot."

Matthias' head sunk, and Bram's went right along with him. "Turns out it was poor judgment. Midway through labor, the clot passed through Angela's heart and sent an irregular beat. The palpitation caused a series of tremors that would have put the life of the child in danger. We had no choice but to perform a cesarean operation. It was a painful process, and we put every ounce of effort into it. The magic performed that day would have lit up the city of Kish during the Great Harvest. After a long and intensive process, we took the newborn out of the womb, and she was alive and beautiful—perhaps the most wonderful thing I'd ever seen. All I wanted to do … was place her in her mother's arms …."

Matthias choked on the final words, pausing to shed a few gentle sobs. Bram could barely contain his own emotions, wondering why it affected him so much. He had never been so drawn in to another man's emotions.

The old wizard's face was like ice. His eyes were vacant, having emptied their emotions in streams of bitter tears. Bram knew before the words were even uttered what he was going to say. "By the time we recovered the baby, Angela was dead."

Silence … not even the wind or the crickets dared to interrupt the moment.

"The other Whites tried to repair the damage to her heart, but she didn't respond. I handed the baby off to try myself, but I wasn't strong enough. She had already passed."

Bram reach out, wanting to offer something … _anything_! "Matthias—"

"I don't want your sympathy, Bram," the wizard growled, his eyes suddenly very much alive. Bram retracted his hand, feeling wounded, bitten by the old man's latent yet roiling fury.

Matthias was suddenly back to his usual self, looking slightly ashamed for lashing out, but not apologetic. "I told you this because you needed to know what my daughter meant to me!"

Bram realized what the old wizard meant. He wanted Bram's attention and understanding, not good-intentioned apologies. Bram offered his ears, and his patience.

Satisfied, Matthias continued. "When I came to terms with my grief, many years ago, I honored my wife's sacrifice by naming my daughter after her. I could have blamed myself for making the wrong call and lose myself to the pain, but instead I chose to honor our _love_. I was able to do this because at least I still had my little girl."

Bram suddenly understood the full tragedy of Matthias' loss. Angela had been more than just a daughter to him. She was also the last remaining memory of the woman he loved. When he lost his daughter that day in Rungholt, it was like losing his entire family all at once. No wonder it broke his spirit.

Matthias nearly choked on the words. "The reason I told you this, Bram, is so you'd know how committed I am to deliver justice to those involved. If you feel—_at all—_the same way about Rosa and Uriana, then you'll want justice, too."

Bram finally understood. Matthias was proposing an alliance, through which they could combine efforts against a common enemy.

"I do," Bram responded, "and I welcome your assistance. My only question is _how_. We can't exactly walk into the capital of the most powerful country in the world and assassinate the king!"

"Humph," the gray wizard mumbled. "I wish it were that easy. The Angkor of today may not be the same one you remember."

Bram felt a sudden onset of panic for the country he loved. "What are you talking about?" he demanded. Despite becoming his enemy, Angkor was still his home. The citizens of that land were not at fault.

"I told you before," Matthias answered. "I've been to the capital, and it's changed. Things have gotten pretty bad."

Bram almost fell of his log. "Like what?"

"All kinds of things," Matthias responded. "People are frightened, always looking over their shoulder. There are witch-hunts, and not the kind for witches, either. People turn on their neighbors, telling the local police about what they _think_ they've seen or heard. Meanwhile, the accused are taken to camps along the countryside, where they're executed without trial."

Bram nearly bolted to his feet. "What? When were you going to tell me all this?"

Matthias scoffed. "You haven't even heard the half of it! I'm talking about rumors of demon spawn haunting the streets at night, strange rituals being performed under the city, and battleships being built that can wage incredible destruction! Dark times, indeed!"

Bram shook his head, scowling. He recalled Emperor Zhao's warning about the Ahriman's influence, wondering if King Richard had finally unleashed the power of these demons upon the land. If Matthias' story was correct, it had to be true. It was time for Bram to tell Matthias about the sunstones. He started at the beginning, from his original mission to steal the sunstone from Minoa, to the point where Rosa had made her revelations about the Ahrimen.

"Dear Gaia," Matthias breathed. "It all makes sense … no wonder things have gotten so bad." He cursed under his breath.

Bram continued his story, describing the attack on Tiahuanaco, as well as the mysterious Gnostic Knight who used his powerful black magic to take the sunstone.

"What a moment, back up," Matthias demanded. "Tell me about this Gnostic Knight. What's his name? What do you know about him?"

Bram shook his head, surprised at the unexpected segue. "I'd never met him before. Each Gnostic is an autonomous unit, reporting independently to King Richard. Some of us know each other, but not always. He said his name was Samuel, and he was a master of black magic, as well as the sword. I'm sure his strength came from using one of the sunstones."

Bram held back on describing Samuel's appearance. He did not want Matthias speculating on a blood relationship. Naturally, Bram supposed that Samuel might be a lost family member. Since he had no knowledge of his birth parents, he could not discount it. But if true, it could mean that Samuel's motives were personal, and Bram did not want anyone acting on that assumption until he knew for sure.

Matthias seemed to pick up on the name right away. His appearance shifted from curious to calculating, as if he were about to solve a puzzle in his head.

"What is it?" Bram asked. "Do _you_ know him?"

Matthias nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. "Yeah. I spoke to quite a few city officials who mentioned a man named Samuel Cortez. He joined the Gnostics only recently, but quickly rose to Richard's inner circle. In fact, he now runs the entirety of Angkor's military, while Richard's First Advisor is in charge of the state."

"Virgil!" All of Bram's previously buried rage suddenly erupted to the surface. His hands went immediately into fists.

Matthias leaned forward, one eyebrow arched higher than the other. "So you know about him, too?"

Bram's blood boiled. He spoke through clenched teeth. "I _know_ Virgil Garvey. He's the bastard who poisoned Rosa, and I just _know_ he's been working with Samuel since the beginning!"

"Maybe, but you're missing the point, Bram. Imagine … the greatest kingdom in the world, ruled by two men who until recently were complete unknowns. And all the while, Richard shuts himself in his quarters, unwilling to speak with anyone."

"It's the influence of the Ahrimen," Bram explained. "The more Richard uses the sunstone, the more he's susceptible to the demon's influence."

"But what about the other sunstones?" Matthias reminded. "Angkor should have three of them already."

Bram thought about it. "I don't know," he admitted, "but if they manage to get the fourth, then the enchantment binding the Ahrimen to their prisons will end, and they'll be free for the first time in a thousand years. There's no comprehending the reign of terror and anarchy that would follow. The last sunstone is in Vineta. If Angkor snatches it, it's all over!"

"You're talking about my homeland, Bram," Matthias reminded. "I have strong ties there, and I believe the sunstone will be safe … for now. It's guarded by the eight clerics. They're a bunch of crusty old wizards, but they know their stuff. If Angkor even thinks about sending a fleet of airships there, they'll take their sunstone so deep into the Vinetan woodlands, it would disappear for _months_."

Bram let out a pent-up breath. "Well, at least that's something, but they're bound to get it eventually. And when they do, we'll need to be prepared to fight them. Problem is, no one's had to fight the Ahrimen in a thousand years. For all we know, the knowledge for how to do it has already been lost!"

Matthias grunted triumphantly. "_That's_ why I'm headed to the Oracle. I didn't know about the Ahrimen until you mentioned them, but I saw their effects, and I knew I'd need help."

Bram scoffed. "I don't know what you think you'll find here. This _Oracle_ is a sham, didn't you know? The only reason I'm here is to help Mica perform a rite of passage." Bram gestured toward the crevasse. "He's down there, somewhere, but I haven't seen anything to convince me that he's more than a con artist with cheap tricks!"

Matthias looked aghast. "No, Bram. You couldn't be more wrong. Didn't the Minoans tell you anything?"

Bram was dumbfounded. "What do you mean? The stories make him out to be some kind of fortuneteller. Mica thinks he's been living down there for hundreds of years, so I figured it was some kind of myth."

Matthias shook his head. "It's not a myth. Not even a man, actually. It's some kind of magical force that even the wizard community can't explain."

"Then how do you know?" Bram pressed. "What if it's just hogwash?"

Matthias crossed his arms and looked at Bram with an impatient stare. "I wouldn't be here, if that were the case."

Bram continued to look at him skeptically.

"Look." A decisive tone. "There are plenty of things in this world that are unexplained, and yet the wizard community has deemed them to be legitimate. There are records dating back hundreds of years from respected scholars claiming to have made contact with the Oracle. Some texts have even suggested that it came here from another world. Whether or not that's true, its powers of divination have been proven out many times."

"Fine, let's say you're right," Bram posited. "If there is a magical force down there that can help us, what do you expect to gain from it?"

Matthias' face softened. "The Oracle is said to grant aid or power in extraordinary circumstances. I came here because I know my magic isn't strong enough to confront our true enemy. My goal is actually to find the knowledge of a very powerful spell—one that's only theoretical, because no wizard has ever been able to master it."

"What spell is that?" Bram wondered.

"Nothing less than the ultimate spell of black magic. It's called _Apocalypsis_, and it's said that _nothing_ can stand in its path and survive."

"Do you think it'll stand up to the Ahrimen?" Bram asked.

Matthias smiled. "I intend to find out."

For the first time since learning the truth about the sunstones, Bram finally felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps the Elder had been wise to send him to the Oracle, after all.

He stood up and retrieved the short sword that the Elder had given to him. "You've proposed a pact, Matthias Deleuze, and I hereby accept. Are you familiar with a Warrior's Pledge?"

Matthias took a deep breath, wearing a bemused look. "Being a wizard, I don't usually partake in secular rituals. But I'm willing to make an exception—_this time_."

Bram smiled. He took the sword and cut his right hand so that it dripped with red. "I pledge myself to you, with this sign of blood, so that together we may defeat the evils within Angkor."

The gray wizard pointed his left finger toward his right hand, and a ray of magical fire cut along his palm. When the blood began oozing from the wound, he completed his end of the pact. "I too pledge myself to our shared cause. With our blood, may we serve justice to those who have suffered at the hands of our enemy."

The two men shook hands to seal the deal.

"There—now we're committed," the wizard announced with a grin. With their minds now set, both companions retired for the night.


	79. Chapter 6: Part XII

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* * *

**Part XII**

_After Midnight of Tertius, Twenty-Fifth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Late at night, Samuel Cortez reached the designated meeting place. It had taken him days to arrange the rendezvous—especially tedious given Virgil's unexplained absence. He had to work through second-hand sources, so he was surprised to find that the mischievous man had arrived first. The room was completely dark, and Virgil was in the process of casting a spell to guard against eavesdropping. Samuel produced a small ball of light so he could face his cohort directly.

"Where have you been all week?" he demanded. "I've not heard from you since I left for Koba, and I've had urgent news to discuss."

Virgil looked up from his spell-casting, dark circles under his eyes, cheeks devoid of color, as if he had not slept in days. "I've been busy."

Samuel loathed his nonchalant attitude. "Have you, now?"

"That's right," the dishonest man insisted. "The Master had me on important errands."

Samuel tensed, surprised to hear Virgil mention their patron. "You've spoken?"

Virgil nodded. "Yes, and I'm afraid you won't like what we discussed."

Samuel gritted his teeth as his blood pressure spiked. "Out with it, Mister Garvey. We both do the Master's bidding, and I'll not have you keeping secrets!"

Virgil stared back indifferently. "Very well. The Master put me in charge, due to your sloppy performance at the Koban temple. Consider yourself demoted."

Samuel nearly jumped. "What?"

"You touched a second sunstone," Virgil explained. "Did you really expect the Master to leave you in charge, now that Belial has you _marked_? Don't deny it."

Samuel stifled his curses, wondering how his secret had gotten out. "I deny _nothing_. It couldn't be helped."

Virgil smirked. "Like it or not, you must accept the Sagittarius Stone. You were supposed to hand it off to your brother, but now you've lost the chance."

Samuel clenched his fist. Seizing the Sagittarius Stone was to be his finest triumph, but he had failed to do it in the way the Master intended. Now the sunstone was his, but only temporarily. Just as Richard slowly fell victim to Abaddon's powers, being marked meant that it was just a matter of time before the Ahriman gained control over his mind and body.

Such was the fate that had been meant for his brother. For one reason or another, his Master had wanted to bring Bram into the fold despite his continued resistance. After Minoa and Ur, it was clear that Bram would not come willingly. That was why Samuel had been ordered to give his brother the Sagittarius Stone. Combined with Belial's powers, Bram's abilities would have grown ten-fold, and his allegiance would have been absolute!

But Samuel missed the opportunity. If only he had not let his guard down and allowed his brother to break free from his compulsion spell.

"You needn't be concerned," Virgil told him, though Samuel found the response to be lacking in sincerity. "We'll surely find a moonstone before you are _taken_. That is, as long as you're careful with how you ration your newfound powers." The wily little man had a way of mocking his target, even as he offered ostensibly helpful advice.

Samuel hid his displeasure. The more he displayed his anger, the more Virgil could use it against him. Besides, he had already counted on using the moonstones' power to neutralize the Ahrimen. Merely possessing one of them would allow him to wield Belial's power, while still maintaining control over his own mind. In fact, the whole issue involving the Koban temple would—in retrospect—seem like a blessing, bestowing him with more power than ever before. Perhaps he could even return to his Master's right hand … but only if Virgil were somehow to fall out of favor. If only the Master had not put him in charge.

The Knight's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you understood the Master's instructions?"

"Don't make me repeat myself," Virgil returned, flippantly.

Samuel buried his anger. "So be it. Speaking of moonstones, I may have discovered one of them."

Virgil's eyes lit up. "Truly?"

Samuel was happy to find something that finally captured the odd man's attention. Unfortunately, the information was simply not valuable enough to use against Virgil.

The Knight grunted. "There remains a survivor from Ur … a child. She wears it on a chain around her neck. Surely she knows nothing of its value. Sadly, it too slipped from my grasp."

"The same child lost at sea?" Virgil shrieked.

Samuel took note of the reaction. "I see your sources are as good as mine. I also had spies upon their ship, and am not convinced that running into _Bake-kujira_ was a coincidence. The child has unfathomable innate powers, enough to match yours or mine—all at a mere tender age. She may have inadvertently attracted the creature. At any rate, she's too strong to have perished. As soon as she resurfaces, we'll have our moonstone."

Virgil frowned. "Then there's no use searching for her in the meantime. Our plans remain unchanged."

Samuel crossed his arms. "What about the _Zounds_ project? Have you made any progress?"

Virgil nodded. "I dealt with the craftsman personally. He won't be bothering us any further. The prototype will be operational soon."

Samuel was impressed, but also envious. Keeping _Zounds_ on schedule must have pleased the Master greatly. It would be a shame if Virgil made a mistake at this point.

"That's good news," he said to humor his loathsome colleague, "but time is short. _Zounds_ will help us find the moonstones, but we must still obtain the final sunstone. By now, the clerics of Vineta will surely be expecting us. With their combined powers, they can bury it in a hole in the deepest grove of the Vinetan forests before we even breach their gates!"

"You worry too much," Virgil dismissed. "It's the least of our worries."

Samuel felt the rage in his gut, and he was ready to unleash his fury upon Virgil for the lackluster response—but then a different thought occurred to him. He was reminded of his wilderness training, back when he first joined the Gnostic Knighthood. Survival meant feeding, and in many places—such as frozen tundra or barren foothills—food was scarce. Even so, there was always a way to trap small unsuspecting prey ….

"The least of our worries?" the Knight echoed sarcastically. "Is that what you plan to tell the Master later, if—let's suppose—you are too slow and miss the opportunity to seize the sunstone?"

Virgil paused, looking contemplative. "If you think it's so important, why not have Libicocco handle it. We can give the Gemini Stone to the Elfen king as a _gift_."

So … Virgil wanted to involve another of the Ahrimen. Samuel had his opportunity.

"What kind of plan is that?" he complained, laying the bait. "You expect Arcesilaus to succumb so easily?"

Always predictable, Virgil took it. "Arcesilaus? He's a self-absorbed twit, like so many of _his kind_. Besides, I needn't remind you of Libicocco's close history with the Elfen people. It should be quite easy for Arcesilaus to gain entry into Kish, at which point we leave it up to the Ahriman."

Success … but the key to an effective snare was to tease it out a bit. The knight added a generous helping of skepticism. "Can we trust her? It's one thing to have Abaddon under close supervision, but you would risk leaving an Ahriman on the loose when we're a thousand leagues away?"

Virgil scowled, looking slighted. "What else would you propose? To charge in through the front gate, like you did in Koba?"

Samuel bit his tongue. His plan for a frontal assault on Loulan was flawless—and his failure to capture his brother had nothing to do with it! But it was clear that Virgil would use any excuse to get under his skin. All the better to have him fall on his own sword.

"What about a stealth mission?" Samuel proposed—an idea he knew the short-sighted dolt was sure to reject. "My apprentice has the necessary skills to sneak inside the Vinetan temple."

"The Templar?" Virgil spat. "You know as well as I do how fragile he is. It was a mistake to even send him to Ur!"

Trap sprung.

Samuel grinned, feeling his prey in the palm of his hand. "Fine. We'll do it your way. I assume you'll want me to broker this trade?"

"Yes," Virgil smiled. "You should go immediately. There's much to do, and we still have yet to find Axismundi."

Samuel agreed. Time was short, and without patience, more mistakes would be made. But not from him. He turned quickly, taking his magic ball of light with him, leaving Virgil Garvey in the dark.


	80. Chapter 6: Part XIII

**.**

* * *

**Part XIII**

_Before Daybreak on Tertius, Twenty-Fifth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Bram awoke early in the morning to find Matthias already up and prepared. The former knight nudged Mica out of her slumber and dismantled the campsite while she groggily repacked her travel bag. She claimed it would take an hour to fully descend the narrow path to the shrine. When everyone was ready, the group took their first steps into the crevasse.

As they descended, the dawning sun's amber light gradually dwindled, fading as it tumbled down the crevasse walls. By the time the hikers reached about mid-way, the path was barely visible. Matthias cast a spell of light, a glowing ball that hovered overhead. Each of the travelers remained close to the cliffside, keeping as much distance from the ledge as possible. The gaping chasm was just a single span away, with no bottom in sight. One wrong move, and a person would tumble endlessly down through the pitch-black recess. It was a slow and laborious march, but eventually, their end was in sight.

They came to a bridge made out of the same solid rock as the cliffs, spanning across the endless abyss. It had no supports—just a thin slab of rock connecting both sides. On either edge were rows of exquisitely detailed stone carvings, all resembling ancient military soldiers. They had no visible signs of wear or erosion, and their lifelike expressions could have been from real people, magically frozen in time. At the far end was an archway, leading straight into the limestone.

Bram was about to cross when Mica stopped cold, refusing to move forward. She looked troubled.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Her head drooped, and her eyes met the ground. "I can't follow you."

"What do you mean?" Bram pressed. "We've finally reached the end of your pilgrimage. Don't you want to meet the Oracle?"

"No, you have it all wrong," she confessed. "This was never supposed to be _my_ pilgrimage."

Bram held his tongue, shocked to hear Mica's admission—but not exactly surprised. He had begun to suspect that the Elder's quest might be a ploy with a different purpose. It had never made sense, until Bram spoke with Matthias and learned that the Oracle was more than just a mere fortuneteller.

Mica looked distraught, and her eyes welled up. "I am ashamed to say this, but I intentionally led you astray. The truth is that the Elder intended for _you_ to speak with the Oracle—not me. Please … forgive me for deceiving you!"

Bram laid a hand on her shoulder. "You've done nothing wrong, Mica. In fact, you've already helped me in ways I can't even explain. When I stood before the Elder, I wasn't ready to admit to needing help, nor was I ready to receive it. He must have known this all along."

Mica looked relieved. "I am proud to know you, Bram. I was not sure at first, but you have proven yourself to be as brave and humble as I had hoped."

Bram wanted to ask what she meant by that, but she turned to address the gray wizard. "And you, too, Master Deleuze. I wish you both Gaia's blessings. May you find what you seek."

The old man smiled affectionately as he joined Bram on the bridge. Mica cast her own ball of light, then waved farewell. Bram and Matthias began their march.

As they advanced along the natural stone path, Bram felt a cool draft blow across his neck, raising the hairs in back. The air around him grew cold, uninviting. A dark and oppressive presence surrounded him, and he looked around to identify the source. His gaze fell upon the nearby statues, where Matthias' light cast wicked shadows along the contours of the warriors' faces—ominous expressions locked in place by an ancient chisel.

"Matthias, look—"

Bram pointed. The stone heads pivoted, tracking the men as they walked. Although eerie, it did not seem imminently dangerous. He looked over his shoulder to Mica, but she was gone—hidden beyond a veil of darkness.

Back at the archway, a thick fog now poured outward, curling into twisted tendrils reminiscent of Death's fingers. Bram turned to Matthias, who was filled with fierce determination. Neither of them intended to turn back, so after taking a deep breath, they stepped through the archway.

The thick fog rolled over Bram abruptly, limiting his visibility to just a single step ahead. A damp frigid draft left him shivering uncontrollably. He reached out, hoping to make contact with Matthias, but the wizard was nowhere to be found. Bram called out, but there was no response. His insides twisted into knots, and he drew his short sword before pressing further into the mist. After a few minutes of blind wandering, he emerged into a large chamber.

It was covered in mirrored glass, similar to the temples housing the sunstones. He looked over his shoulder, hoping to see Matthias emerge from the fog, but the wizard never did. With urgency pushing him forward, Bram decided to make contact with whatever supernatural power ruled over the magical shrine.

"Oracle!" he shouted, but all he heard was his own hollow echo. He tried again. "My name is Abraham Morrison. I've come seeking wisdom to triumph over a powerful adversary. Please, hear my plea!"

Whether the Oracle heard him or not, Bram's call was answered … with silence.

His heart sunk, and he wondered for a moment if his entire journey had been in vain. He was at a loss for how to proceed, and he struggled to think of what to do next. He walked to the opposite side of the room, wondering if any of the dizzying reflections happened to be more than just a wall of glass—perhaps, even a passage he had overlooked. He was surprised when one of the reflections was not his own. The mysterious figure approached, slowly coming into detail.

Bram recoiled as soon as he recognized the armor of a Gnostic Knight. The reflection did not stop. It kept advancing, in defiance of Bram's own movements, until it stepped right through the glass pane and into the chamber. Bram's heart sank, fearing some kind of terrible magic. He wondered which of King Richard's men had managed to catch up to him. He gripped his short sword tightly, though he doubted it would do much good. He was woefully under-equipped against such a well-armored foe.

Surprisingly, the Gnostic Knight refrained from battle. Instead, he used his left hand to unfasten the clasp of his skull-shaped helm. Bram recognized the man's face instantly, and his eyes narrowed.

"Samuel!" he growled. The accumulated angst of all his misfortunes suddenly coalesced into a smoldering lump of molten hatred. "How did you find me?"

"It was quite simple," the Gnostic responded in his deep baritone voice. "But I won't be wasting my time explaining it to you. I'll make sure you deeply regret what you did to me in the Koban temple!"

Before Bram could react, the Gnostic Knight drew his sword and advanced. Bram had nowhere to run. Instinct took over. He parried Samuel's strike with his short sword while spinning in the opposite direction. A clash reverberated through the chamber, but his weapon held firm.

He smiled, confidence resurgent. "What's wrong?" he goaded. "No sunstone to give you the advantage, this time?"

"You'll soon discover I won't need one," Samuel shot back.

Bram ignored the taunt and moved to an offensive stance. He lunged forward, meeting his opponent in the fiercest sword combat of his life. He had trained to deal with experienced swordsmen, but Samuel was an equal match. Both warriors demonstrated equivalent prowess.

Back and forth they sparred, one sword clashing against the other, each man perfectly executing an offensive move that the other perfectly defended. Bram felt like he was attacking his mirror image. He took pride in his flawless techniques, but at the same time was frustrated and disheartened that he could not turn the battle in his favor.

Beads of sweat glided down his face, but his passion kept him going. He would not back down—no matter what! He would give his last breath to vanquish this foe, so he drew deep within, finding the fervor and fortitude needed to keep the battle going. Every muscle burned, but he pressed on.

Finally—gloriously—he saw Samuel sink to one knee. He raised his sword, ready to rush forward with his finishing move, when the Gnostic held up a gauntleted hand. Bram fought hard against his impulse to go in for the kill. A part of him wanted to learn about Samuel's motivations, straight from the Knight's own mouth. So Bram stopped to catch his breath, keeping his sword poised.

Samuel glared at him while breathing heavily. "You could have stood at my side … but instead you defied me. I would have given you unimaginable power, but you willingly cast it aside!"

"Like you said," Bram responded, between heavy inhalations, "the time for explanations has passed. All I want is Rosa, and I won't let you leave here alive without telling me how to find her!"

"Is that it?" Samuel asked sardonically. "You have the chance to ask me anything, and yet you waste your questions on a woman?"

Bram bared his teeth. "No, but it's where I want to start!"

Samuel stood up straight and sheathed his sword. "Very well, then allow me to offer a fair exchange. I will trade Rosa Reynolds' location for some answers to my own questions."

"What kind of fool do you take me for?" Bram demanded, holding his sword ready. "Your promises mean nothing to me! I have no guarantee that you'll give me the correct location, or that you won't move her before I get there!"

Samuel grinned. "Quite right, Abraham, but you have nothing to lose by hearing me out. All I want are a few simple answers. In fact, you may ask me anything in return. Don't you want to know what I'm _truly_ after?"

Bram sheathed his sword, but still kept his distance. Indeed, he had some choice questions, but did not dare let his guard down. "I won't give any answers that put my friends in danger!"

"You won't have to," Samuel responded. "My questions are of a more _personal_ nature."

Bram's lips tightened as he considered what Samuel's endgame might be with such a puerile exercise. Regardless, there was no harm in hearing him out, first. "What do you want to know?"

Samuel's face was stone cold and serious. "First, I want you to recall the day you went to Ur with your friend, Kane. He told me all about how you rejected your training, disobeyed orders, and threw away a lifelong friendship. I want to know _why_."

Bram felt his anger return. Samuel had gone too far! The question was too personal, and the pain too recent. Bram felt exposed by what was buried underneath, and he did not want to dig it up for his nemesis to see.

"What is this?" he snarled. "Some kind of trick? Or a perverse interest in my pain?"

"No," Samuel assured, "and if you can't put aside your need for comforting answers, you'll end up learning _nothing_."

Bram tried to confront the pain. If there was a chance he could finally learn the truth behind Samuel's motives, then it was worth facing a bit of self-reflection. Even so, his hand subconsciously clenched into a fist, his body knowing precisely what it wanted to do to the Gnostic Knight standing before him. The request was cruel, but Bram did not want to be seen as too weak to confront his past.

"Very well, I'll tell you," he began. "It was a terrible loss for me that day, between turning my back on a friend, walking away from my homeland, and becoming an enemy to my own country … but the man I confronted was not the same one I knew from childhood. You can deny it all you want, but I know you had something to do with it!"

"Believe what you wish," Samuel shot back, "but I already told you. Kane made his own decisions that day, and it was no easier for him. You act all high and noble, passing judgment on your friend, while _you_ were the one who betrayed Richard's orders. Kane merely followed his honorably, and yet you denigrate him like a hypocrite."

"Don't twist things around!" Bram growled. "I went against Richard's orders because they were senseless! He wanted us to destroy an entire village of innocents, including children!"

"Even children are victims of war," Samuel argued. "Ur wasn't the first village to be torched as a tactic against the enemy. As a Gnostic, you performed similar duties—even against so-called innocents."

The accusations hit Bram particularly painfully. He knew what he had done during the War. It had not been easy for him—even then—but it had been his duty. They were dilemmas he had struggled with, even while en route to the Great Crevasse. Bram figured that Samuel must have intended his questions to make him more vulnerable—to trick him into lowering his guard—but he would not let his enemy get away with such simple tactics.

"It's not the same," he countered. "War-time rules are different!"

Samuel chuckled. "Who do you think you are? The arbiter of these rules? The one who gets to decide whether it's right or wrong to kill a man? Surely Kane told you that the Conjurions would have threatened us with their magic, did he not?"

Bram remained silent while Samuel dug deeper. "During the War, when Koban and Kitezhian forces gained ground on our lands, Richard commanded his Gnostics to raze fringe villages to slow their advance. You were among those Knights, and the villages you torched contained both innocents _and_ children—not unlike Ur."

Bram struggled to rationalize it, but sorting through the conundrum made him angry and impatient.

"Why do you care so much about my past, anyway?" he challenged.

"Answer the question!" Samuel persisted.

Bram gritted his teeth and searched. "It was _war_ … and they were the enemy. We could not afford to treat civilians differently."

"Come now, what kind of code is that? You mean to justify your conduct during war as a moral imperative, and yet argue your betrayal at Ur on those same moral grounds?"

Bram scoffed, and his voice escalated. "I never intended to harm civilians—even then! But if we didn't do something, our own kinsmen would have been the next target!"

"How convenient … Angkor initiated the War due to a border dispute. You know its history just as well as anyone else. A person can't claim to be the victim when they are also the instigator. Face it, Abraham! You stand before me a plaster saint, here to condemn me and your own childhood friend as enemies, while still defending your actions as a Gnostic."

"Enough!" Bram drew his sword and pounded it into the ground, cracking the glass underneath. "Perhaps I _am_ a hypocrite for disobeying Richard's orders, even though I followed them during the War—but I don't regret my choice!"

"No regrets?" Samuel mocked. "Look where it's landed you. Under Angkor's protection, you had everything. Wealth, a beautiful woman who wished to marry you, and a home to call your own—yet you gave it all up! For what, the passing fancy of a nobler cause?"

"No …." Bram's thoughts went to Uriana, the child who had changed everything for him. Her absence suddenly resurrected the deep and incessant regret that he had felt ever since awakening on the empty beach.

Samuel's eyes went wide, almost as if he had somehow come to the same conclusion. His lips crept upward into a smile. "I know … _the child!_"

Bram turned away, unwilling to let his nemesis see the longing in his eyes.

"Of course it was her," the Gnostic jeered. "She had great power—I'll grant you that—but it appears you've lost her, too. And now, you are truly left with _nothing_. Pathetic. An enemy to your homeland, and all you've ever cared about is gone. And yet, you stand against me, fueled by some baseless moralistic argument that's gotten you _nowhere!_"

Samuel wore a smug and confident look, looking ready to seize his opportunity to invalidate all of Bram's beliefs. But he was wrong … and Bram was determined to hold his ground.

"_You heard me!_" he roared.

He took a shaky step forward, sick of Samuel's arrogance and intimidation.

"Yeah … I've changed. I no longer believe in the same principles. But in spite of the consequences, I still stand by my choices! I've learned … that a person can justify what they do for all the wrong reasons, and for a time, they can live with it. But eventually, the toll must be paid. It brings a man to the precipice of darkness and dares him to jump … or he can repent, as I have. Perhaps it's too late to save the ones I care for the most, but I'm ready to finally start over. You may have great power, Samuel, but you'll never succeed in ruling over the Ahrimen. And none of your twisted logic will _ever_ make it true!"

Samuel scowled. "So … you still intend to stand against me? You would fight your friends and kinsmen, even with nothing to gain in return? Even after having lost so much?"

Bram took another step forward, this time with confidence. "They day after I recovered from our last battle, I rejected the Gnostic Knighthood once and for all. Perhaps I had already done so in practice, but that day, I also rejected it in my heart. The truth is, I'd never felt more liberated. I was no longer enslaved to a king who'd decide right from wrong for me. From now on, it's for _me_ to decide. As for what I've gained, it's my freedom. I will never again … be a subject … in your wanton kingdom!"

As soon as he said this, the vision of Samuel disappeared. Bram backed up against the far wall, his sword raised, fearing more of Samuel's magic.

However, a strong yet pleasant voice echoed across the chamber. "Be at ease, my child. The knight was nothing more than an apparition, borne from your own mind so that I might commune with your inner feelings."

Bram's head felt airy. His body was still sore with the sting of Samuel's words, his adrenaline still pumping. Who was this voice who chose to toy with him—to shake his temperance to its very core …?

"You're the Oracle?" Bram called out to the disembodied voice, unsure whether to be angry or relieved. "Answer me! I came to you for help, but you tricked me with … these _illusions_. Why?"

"Would you have searched your feelings in the same way, had you known with whom you spoke?"

The voice had a point, but it was a cruel way to find out. Bram felt his anger melt as he pulled himself together, but the frustration remained. "Perhaps not, but why invoke such feelings in the first place? Why test me in this way?"

For a moment, the voice did not respond. Bram wondered if he had perhaps said something to offend it. But then he heard it pose a question of its own. "Surely you must know by now what Samuel Cortez means to you, do you not?"

Bram nodded. He had already suspected—based on the way Samuel looked—but now he knew the truth in his heart. "Samuel is my brother."

"Indeed, my child," the Oracle responded. "Then it should come as no surprise to you that he is also your twin."

Bram felt his heart clench as the Oracle confirmed it. He understood, deep inside, it was true. He also realized why the Oracle had been testing him. "You must have thought that if Samuel is my twin, then we must think the same way. Therefore, you thought that by having us converse, you could learn how we came to walk separate paths."

"That is correct," the Oracle responded. "You and Samuel are the products of very different life experiences. And yet, at the deepest levels, you are the same. Samuel seeks the power of the Ahrimen, while you seek to defend the world from them. I had hoped to learn whether you could truly be humanity's champion."

Bram stepped forward confidently. "I can, and I will. That's why I came here, to seek your aid in vanquishing these demons. Can you help me?"

"Indeed," the Oracle confirmed. "I knew your intentions the moment you entered this chamber. All your experiences passed onto me, which was how I was able to create a convincing scenario of Samuel Cortez. However, I also needed you to believe in yourself, and to have the conviction to withstand the same temptations that have ensnared your brother."

Bram stood tall. "I am filled with such conviction. Please, tell me what you know about the powers of the sunstones."

"The sunstones themselves have no power," the Oracle asserted. "It is merely an illusion. The only true power comes from the Ahriman inside. Unfortunately, the Children of Chaos do not lend their power freely, but rather demand a steep price."

Bram remembered what Emperor Zhao Peng had said about the Ahrimen's influence. "Does that mean King Richard is already under their dominion? Will others fall victim in the same way?"

"Using the sunstones is very dangerous. Richard Cromwell has drawn upon Abaddon's powers for quite some time. Other men would have succumbed already, but Richard's will is very strong. Even so, I fear he will not withstand the Ahriman's influence much longer."

Bram finally understood. "That was Virgil's and Samuel's plan all along, wasn't it? They gave the sunstone to Richard, and waited for his greed to compel him to use it. But what does that mean? And what happens when Abaddon gains control of Richard's mind?"

"To control the mind is to control the body. If Richard surrenders himself to Abaddon completely, then he will cease to exist, and Abaddon will be free to roam the world outside of its sunstone prison."

Bram felt a chill clamber up his spine, and he shivered. "What can we do? How can we stop it?"

"Only _you_ have the power to stop it."

"Me? How?" As soon as Bram asked, he saw images swirl within the mirrors in front of him.

The Oracle spoke. "Long ago, a group of men and women united in the battle against the Ahrimen formed a knighthood known as the _Grigori_. Together, they developed a power capable of facing these demons."

Images of these knights appeared in the mirrors, fully adorned with bright silver armor. They wielded mighty swords, large and powerful like the Gnostics, but made of gleaming steel rather than dark magic. Their helms were elegant and furnished with winged crests above the ears, and they rode on mighty white stallions. They were magnificent.

The Oracle continued. "The descendants of these knights are the Minoan people, but their bloodlines have thinned over the centuries. Even so, power exists inside those of direct lineage, such as yourself."

"Me?" Bram stumbled. "I'm a descendant of the Minoan people?"

"Yes. You and your brother were borne of a priestess named Sophia. She was one in a line of Minoan holy men and women whose lineage dates back a thousand years. Through this bloodline, you have the power to once again protect this planet from the evil of the Ahrimen."

Bram was taken aback. "You mean that I've had this power all along?"

"Your powers have been dormant, my child, but I can help to reawaken them."

"How?" asked Bram.

"You need only to ask and accept the gift."

Bram stood tall and ready. "Then I accept it, Oracle. Help me, so that I might fulfill my destiny."

His eyes were immediately blinded by a bright light. It soaked through his body and skin, penetrating straight through to his bones. It looked like white fire, but somehow felt holy and comforting. When the cavern returned to normal, the images inside the mirrors vanished, and in their place was his own reflection. Except this time, he wore the armor of the Grigori Knights. It shined with the same brilliance, and came with the same bright silver sword and majestic helm. Bram looked boldly upon what he had become.

He removed the helm so that he could view his own face, and verify that it was not another illusion. The Oracle had granted him all the ancient relics of a knighthood from a thousand years past.

"What do I do now?" he asked. "How did the Grigori Knights defeat the Ahrimen?"

"You will become aware of your powers, when the time is right."

"But how will I know?"

"You will know," the Oracle reiterated.

Bram took a deep breath. "I understand, but at least tell me more about my adversary. Who is this demon who threatens to emerge through King Richard?"

"It is known as Abaddon of the Wroth Sea, and it has the power of Water and Storms. As with other Ahrimen, it is a Child of Chaos. In the end, its only goal is that of destruction. It can never be swayed or reasoned with, nor can its powers ever be of any usefulness to mankind."

Bram thought of something else. "Could someone use the power of the Ahrimen for the purpose of good, even for a little while?"

"For a limited time, yes. If a person's intentions are pure, they can redirect the Ahrimen's powers for noble purposes. But I warn you, my child—do not be tempted to do so. Once they have the chance, the Ahrimen would use you like any other."

Bram nodded. "May I ask more?"

"Proceed, my child."

Bram did not want to squander his time with the Oracle selfishly, but he felt the need to ask about the ones he loved. "Are you able to tell me how I can find a woman named Rosalyn Reynolds, or a child named Uriana? Are they alive?"

"The spirit of the white wizard still shines brightly, as does the child from Ur."

Bram felt warmth and elation all over. "Where are they? Which country, or city? Please—I'll take any clues at all!"

"You cannot reach them from where you are," the Oracle admitted, "and their futures remain uncertain. You will need to find them on your own."

Bram felt these answers would need to suffice. As long as they were alive, he vowed to never stop searching.

"Remember, my child, you have discovered many things about yourself this day. Not just that your lineage connects you to the Ancient Minoans, but also that you have the ability and responsibility to choose your own actions. You are no longer bound to a knighthood that demands obedience. Instead, your new knighthood, the _Grigori_, is about choosing what you believe in your own heart. But, also realize that with this freedom comes the greatest burden of all …."

With its final remark, the strong but pleasing voice of the Oracle was gone, even when Bram pressed for more. He was content, however, since he felt he had learned enough to proceed. With his mind set on his new mission, he backtracked through the cavern to meet up with Matthias and Mica.

Outside the Oracle's sanctuary, he found the gray wizard and priestess already conversing. Evidently, Matthias had also spoken to the Oracle, and had received similar gifts worthy of battling the Ahrimen. His gray tattered robes now glowed brightly silver, and in the place of his gnarled walking staff was an ornate scepter.

Even so, both he and Mica stared at Bram in awe.

"Wow," the priestess-in-training expressed with wide eyes, "is that still you, Bram? You look just like the warriors on the bridge." Sure enough, the stone guardians brandished the very same accoutrements as the Grigori Knights.

"My, oh my," Matthias concurred. "From one who had once walked the path of darkness, you have certainly come a long way, my friend. I suspect we'll have much to discuss with the Elder. Speaking of which, we should head back soon. Allow me to show you the first demonstration of my newfound powers—gifts from the Oracle."

Matthias waved his arms and spoke in the language of magic. In an instant, Bram found himself at the top of the crevasse. Mica looked around in wide-eyed wonder as the landscape changed without even the slightest transition.

Even Bram was impressed by the raw magical talent. "So, it seems the Oracle has granted you the powers you were searching for."

"I've gained the knowledge of many new and powerful spells," Matthias revealed. "With these, I dare say we'll have a chance, after all."

Bram took advantage of Mica's excitement to lean over and whisper something privately into Matthias' ear. "And … _Apocalypsis_?"

The gray wizard nodded.

They headed back to the previous night's campsite and discussed their experiences. Bram relayed what he had learned about the Ahrimen, along with his lineage in the Grigori Knighthood. When all was said, Matthias used his magic again to whisk them back to Minoa.


	81. Chapter 6: Part XIV

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**Part XIV**

_Night of Tertius, Twenty-Fifth Day of Autumnmoon_

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Józef Brandt brooded over how he could have been so naïve. His own subjects had mutinied against him, murdered his followers, and locked him in his own cabin. Yet he had never seen it coming! He would never be as good a ruler as his father had been. Henrich Brandt had built a reputation for the loyalty he cultivated from his subjects. His son, however, was a disgrace.

Since the mutiny, the crew had taken the ship way off course, ending up somewhere deep in the northern polar region. Józef sailed for days over the unknown icy waters, thinking he might not ever see his homeland again.

Worse, he could not shake the overwhelming guilt festering in the pit of his stomach. His companions had stood by his side ever since leaving Rungholt, risking their lives to protect him, but now they lay dead at the bottom of the ocean—killed in their sleep. Rather than avenging his protectors' deaths, he had succumbed to his captors, thereby rendering their sacrifices meaningless.

But what else could he do? A hundred leagues of frigid ocean separated him from the nearest port, and his captors were all well-seasoned cutthroats. He had little hope of overpowering them, much less escaping.

He had been a fool from the beginning. Just a few days earlier, he fancied himself capable of ruling a country, but in truth, he could not even protect those closest to him. He put his blind trust in a ship of anonymous sailors claiming to take him home, but lacked the good sense to see through their simple charade.

Two of his captors guarded the door to his cabin at any given moment. Twice each day, they gave him clean water and a simple meal, but otherwise avoided contact. If he asked, they would grant him the courtesy of a trip to the head, but he dared not push their patience with onerous requests.

Although they did not seem to intend him any harm, their motives were a mystery. Józef thought perhaps they might demand ransom, but kidnapping the heir to the Kitezhian throne would make them permanent enemies of the state as soon as he returned. The king's guard would hunt them down, and they would be fools to think they could ever escape justice.

As for how to break free, he had no good ideas. For the time being, he surrendered quietly. He did not feel good about it, but at least he was not in immediate danger. Being able to wander around in a locked room was better than being bound and gagged—or worse. Even so, he hated himself for doing nothing, with discouragement mounting as time went on. It became harder to sit idle when he knew that Angkor came closer each day to unlocking the power of the sunstones. He had to figure out a way to get home to warn his people!

He nearly fell forward when the ship jerked to a sudden stop. The sailors must have dropped anchor. Soon afterward, the door burst open and a man instructed him to put on a heavy fleece coat. It was late at night, and there was no discernable reason for his captors to take him out of his room. Yet he obeyed. The man led him to the deck, where a lifeboat was already prepped.

"Get on," the sailor ordered. Two other men were already inside, and the fourth helped lower the boat off the side of the ship.

"What is happen—?"

"Shut up, and stay quiet," the man barked.

Józef complied, too scared to argue. He watched as snowflakes floated down around him, reminding him of pleasant memories while growing up at the palace in Rungholt. His father would take a handful of wet snow and throw it at him playfully. Those moments were among the fondest in his life—free from any worry or burden ….

He was violently yanked out of his reverie when the lifeboat hit the water. The two sailors started rowing, leaving the other Kitezhians behind. Fear returned. He was vulnerable and alone, without any idea why these men would take him out to the middle of the Glacial Ocean on a small dinghy. He kept a steady gaze, half-expecting them to pull out a knife, slit his throat, and dump him into the icy water.

He shivered uncontrollably. Not because his coat lacked warmth, but because his nerves had finally gotten the better of him. "Are you going to kill me?" he whispered.

"No," one of the men hissed in a low voice. "Another ship is pursuing us … pirates. There's an isle up ahead where we can hide. But let me be clear. If you so much as _think_ about causing trouble and it comes down to you or us, I'll have no problem tossing you overboard. Understand?"

Józef nodded as he huddled in a tight posture. The frigid air blew against his face, and his breath came out as a warm mist. Even if it were safe to talk, he would have struggled to form coherent words. It took all his effort to keep from getting sick from the lifeboat's constant swaying.

A gruff voice rose from the fog. One of the rowers. "Wait! Do you hear that?"

Both men stood perfectly still. It was as faint as the sound of a falling leaf, but Józef detected a second dinghy, far in the distance.

The first man cursed. "They found us!"

The words were ominous, and Józef found himself wrapping his arms around his body even tighter.

The men took up their oars and rowed as fast as they could. Józef saw their muscles bulge and sweat form on their foreheads, in spite of the icy cold. But even as they put their full strength into it, the sound in the distance drew closer.

When it was obvious that the rowers could not outrun their pursuers, one of them threw down his oars and reached inside his coat. He pulled out a Kitezhian firearm and pointed it at the fog. He stood up, aimed, and fired.

The reverberating shot rang in Józef's ears. For a moment, it seemed as if the approaching sounds had stopped.

The next instant, a shot fired back, and the gunman fell into the water, dead.

The boy-king gasped and dove to the bottom of the boat, pressing his stomach flat. He heard the second man draw his firearm and shoot into the fog. Shortly after, a fourth shot came back, narrowly missing its target. Józef turned to watch as the man's eyes bulged. He desperately tried to expedite the reloading process, fumbling through his pockets for the required bullets and powder. As he vainly readied his second shot, a shadow came into view. Józef saw a large boat filled with three pairs of men.

His captor seemed to realize that he would not be ready with the firearm in time, so he drew his sword. Before he even had a chance to face his enemy, the second boat opened fire. The dinghy tipped to the side as the man fell into the water, splashing an icy spray onto Józef's face. He wiped it away with his sleeves, but when he opened his eyes, the men on the boat each had his weapons pointed in Józef's direction.

"Please, have mercy!" the heir begged, holding out his hands. "I am not one of the sailors from the ship. I am a prisoner, I swear to you!"

"Who are ye, then?" one of the men demanded in a thick northern accent.

"My name is Józef Brandt. I am son of King Henrich of Kitezh, and I promise to give you riches if you let me live."

The men laughed, and a couple of them jostled each other in the ribs. But after the jovial moment passed, their firearms were once again pointed at him. Instinctively, he brought his hands in front of his face in a vain attempt to protect himself.

"Wait!" one of the men commanded in an authoritative tone—the leader. The others lowered their weapons. "Where did ye get that ring?"

Józef looked at his right ring-finger. "It is my family signet, given to me by my father. But … but you can have it!"

"All in good time," the leader responded. "Perhaps it is a lucky day for both of us. We will take you to the captain, and see what he decides." Then to his mates, he ordered, "Get him on board."

Józef cooperated, but his entire body shook with fear. The men placed him in the back of the boat, where he sat motionless until he was commanded otherwise.


	82. Chapter 6: Part XV

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**Part XV**

_Afternoon of Quartus, Twenty-Sixth Day of Autumnmoon_

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Bram marveled at the improvements to Matthias' magic. The gray wizard was now able to cast the complex spell of teleportation, a very rare talent. His only limitation was that it worked over relatively short distances, and he needed to be familiar with the destination. Even so, by casting it in succession along the Ancient Minoan road, the old wizard was able to return Bram and Mica to the sprawling refugee village of Minoa in a matter of hours. That kind of spell-casting would have sapped the stamina of most other wizards, but it left Matthias only moderately tired.

When they finally reached the Gaian temple, the Elder welcomed them into a room with comfortable seating and a small round table. Matthias rested on a lounger in the corner, while Bram detailed their adventure. Turns out, the gray wizard needed no introduction—he and the Elder already knew each other quite well. Apparently, both men had grown up in adjacent villages in Vineta, and later trained as wizards at the world-renowned medical center in the forest city of Kish, known as the Nexus. Bram felt as if there was more to the story, but the conversation quickly moved forward before he could press Matthias or the Elder for more details.

Over the course of the sitting, Bram relayed almost everything the Oracle had told him—save for any information regarding his brother. He felt it was still too soon to speculate on Samuel's motives and did not want the others to treat the mysterious Gnostic Knight as anything other than the enemy.

When the conversation ended, the Elder stood up and bowed graciously. "You must all be very tired after your adventures. Master Deleuze, I have a room where you may rest from all your strenuous spell-casting. However, there's still more I'd like to discuss with Mister Morrison—excuse me, _Sir_ Morrison."

"Father, may I make a request?" Mica asked.

The Elder nodded. "Proceed, Daughter."

The young priestess took a deep breath, looking nervous. "I would like to ask Sir Morrison and Master Deleuze … if I can join them on their journey—on a more permanent basis."

Matthias gave a small chuckle, but Bram thought the request was highly inappropriate. It was bad enough that Mica was put in harm's way as part of the ploy to get him to speak with the Oracle, but he would not allow anyone to subject her to the dangers of the Ahrimen—not even the Elder, who seemed to be seriously considering her proposal.

"As an adult, it's your decision, Daughter," the high priest stated while stroking his beard, "but you should know their quest is very dangerous, and there's no guarantee that you'll ever make it back to Minoa."

Bram scoffed. "I think you've severely understated it, Elder. Matthias and I are prepared to lay down our lives to fight the Ahrimen, but it's not right to let Mica share in the same burden."

The young priestess faced the knight boldly. "If you doubt my contribution, Sir Morrison, then you should tell me directly, so that I may defend it. I am not the naïve girl you think I am, and have already thought through the consequences. I understand the dangers of traveling with you, as well as the threat to our planet should we fail—and it is _my right_ to choose my own path."

Bram felt he needed to put his foot down. "It's _my right_ to refuse you."

Mica squeaked a tiny protest before she forcefully collected herself. "Then please … reconsider, Sir Knight! Now that I realize the dangers of the Ahrimen, I want to do something about it. You cannot just cast me aside, now that I finally know the truth!"

"Daughter, you've made your point," the Elder stated calmly. "Please give Sir Morrison time to consider your proposal. And, in the meantime, show Master Deleuze to his room."

Turning to Bram he added, "Sir Morrison, please stay. There's still more I'd like to discuss with you."

Mica swallowed her protests and nodded respectfully. Even so, she looked torn. Matthias, on the other hand, cheerfully tried to brighten her mood as the two disappeared from the room.

Once they were gone, the Elder took a deep breath. "First things, first, Sir Morrison. I feel it necessary to reveal that I was already well aware of the Ahriman's existence."

Bram already suspected as much, but the Elder continued. "In fact, I've been an expert on the subject for many years—even before immigrating to Minoa."

The Grigori Knight almost fell out of his chair. "You mean, before even becoming a sunstone protector? How is that possible? No one has ever learned the truth about the Ahrimen without the Enchantment!"

"Except for Maurice Vance," the Elder clarified.

Bram finally understood. "So you must have learned about Vance's experiments. I had assumed we were the only ones."

The Elder gave a solemn nod. "Yes. In fact, Maurice and I were once colleagues. We studied the sunstones together, and part of the reason I immigrated to Minoa was to finish my work."

Bram's eyes went wide. "You worked with Vance personally? And you came _here_ to continue your research?"

The high priest cleared his throat before answering. "You are _partly_ correct, but the full story will have to wait for another day. The point is, our paths are connected, Sir Morrison. You were _meant_ to become our Savior."

A shiver flew up Bram's spine. "What makes you say that?"

The Elder bowed his head reverently. "I'll start from the beginning. Every third moon cycle, I travel to the shrine of the Oracle to mark the change of seasons. Usually, I experience nothing more than an empty cavern, as do most people who make their pilgrimage there. You should note that your encounter with the Oracle is quite unusual. He does not speak to just anyone, much less grant them new powers."

The Elder's words were deeply profound. Indeed, Bram felt quite fortunate to have received the Oracle's wisdom and gifts, but he had not fully appreciated how unusual it was to make contact in the first place.

The Elder continued. "While I prayed at the shrine, I heard a voice. It spoke directly to my mind, as clear as our conversation is at this very moment. It told me I would need to keep watch, because our world would soon be in peril, and its Savior would come in the most unlikely of forms. I could think of nothing more fitting than the Gnostic Knight who so violently stole our sunstone."

Bram lowered his head. "So that's why you sent me on the quest to the Crevasse. You must have figured that if I were the chosen one, the Oracle would appear before me."

His heart sank as he considered what might have happened if the Oracle had not granted him his gifts. "And I suppose if I had come back empty-handed …?"

The Elder pressed his lips together tightly. "We'd be having a _very_ different conversation, Sir Morrison."

Bram pondered these words for a moment, wondering if the old priest would have followed through on his earlier threat to hand him over to the Minoan executioners. Of course, as the people's Savior, Bram still had an incredible responsibility.

"Well, now what?" he asked. "If I'm to face the Ahrimen, I'll need to know how to use my Grigori powers. Is there anything you can tell me that will help?"

The Elder opened his mouth to answer when there was a knock at the door. "Excuse me, Sir Morrison," he apologized as he rose to answer it.

Another priest stood under the archway, and Bram listened as the Elder relayed a series of instructions. "Yes, please be sure the cooks are aware that we'll have additional guests tonight. Thank you."

The priest left, and the Elder turned his attention back to Bram. "Sadly, all knowledge of the Knights' powers has been lost over the centuries. As you know, you're the first to be granted this power since the Omega War, almost a thousand years ago. We're only vaguely aware of the existence of these ancient knights through old Minoan texts. All I can tell you is if the Oracle said your powers will be revealed at the right time, I'd urge you to be patient."

Bram sighed at the response he should have expected. He opened his mouth to ask something else, but once again there was a knock at the door.

The Elder was still standing at the archway, so he answered it. He spoke to a priest on the other side, but with a low voice. Bram was only able to make out the last part. "Yes, see that _the way_ is prepared. Thank you."

The Elder sighed as he turned back to Bram. "I'm deeply sorry for being so rude, Sir Morrison, but there are preparations that must be made quickly."

"You mean my ship?" Bram asked.

"Not exactly, but I'll explain later. For now, I'd like to show you something. Please, follow me." The Elder beckoned with an outstretched palm.

Bram rose from his seat and followed the Elder to a room at the back of the temple. It appeared to be some kind of library. The Elder closed the doors behind them. Huge arched ceilings with stained glass windows towered over the room, letting in a steady stream of daylight to brighten the back wall. In between fully stocked bookshelves were paintings of distinguished priests and priestesses.

The Elder brought Bram to one painting in particular, a portrait of a young lady sitting in a plain wooden chair with red velvet cushion. She wore simple white robes, and her hands were folded delicately on her lap. Her face was calm and graceful, with a smile that radiated compassion. What drew in Bram the most, however, was her argent-colored hair. He ran his hands involuntarily through his own silver strands.

The Elder cleared his throat. "Sir Morrison, this wall is dedicated to our most cherished priests and priestesses over the last few centuries. The woman upon whom you gaze is none other than our revered priestess, Sophia Pistille."

Bram remembered what the Oracle had told him. He exhaled, and the words fell from his lips. "My mother."

The Elder approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Yes. It surprised me at first when you mentioned her name, but now I can see it clearly. You are undoubtedly her son."

At the Elder's confirmation, Bram felt a surge of pure elation. Years' worth of longing, reduced to just a single moment. He had waited his entire life to gaze upon his birth mother—and there she was, her likeness finally personified. He wanted to reach out and touch the image, holding back only out of reverence to the holy room and its company.

He had so many questions. He uttered one of them, even while focusing his full attention on studying the portrait down to its most exquisite detail. "What can you tell me about her?"

The Elder gazed upon the painting as well, his eyes carrying a certain fondness. No doubt it conjured up cherished memories.

"Where to begin … well, for starters, she was the youngest of seven siblings, though hardly the least among them. Years ago, when people used to wander the foothills near the Crevasse without fear of spawn, your mother was among those priestesses who regularly tended the Oracle's shrine. She was a good woman—dedicated, honest, trustworthy—and her good deeds earned her the adoration of our people, as well as a prominent place on this wall. In fact, had it not been for what happened next, she was expected to be next in line as a Gaian Elder."

Bram was quickly overwhelmed. He had never intended for his emotions to paralyze him so thoroughly, but the Elder's description of a noble priestess went against all his preconceptions. He had always figured his mother was some kind of poor farmer … one who had abandoned her child because she lacked any means to raise him. But now, after learning she was a paragon of Minoan society, it turned his assumptions upside-down. He had so many questions and could no longer contain himself.

"How could such a virtuous woman have abandoned an infant in the middle of the Angkorian forests?" he struggled to speak through the lump in his throat. "Why did she do that to me, when she had showed so much love to the Minoan people?"

"Sir Morrison, please," the Elder begged. "Hold off on judging her until I tell you what I know."

Bram pulled himself together to hear the Elder's explanation, but it was a struggle. The old man sighed, sounding so much more human than the stoic religious figure from earlier.

"It all happened about thirty years ago. I was just a novice at the time, but your mother was very kind to me, and I trusted her explicitly. So when she came to me in the middle of the night with shocking news, I did all I could to help her."

The Elder took in a deep breath, while Bram held his.

"She begged me not to tell anyone. Only when I vowed a pact of secrecy, she revealed that she … was with child. Keep in mind, Sir Morrison—such a thing is hardly a crime in Minoan society, but Gaian Priestesses are expected to remain celibate. It would have disqualified her from continuing as a priestess, but the community loved her so much they would have surely helped her transition to a secular retirement. Even so, she was convinced that she had to leave Minoa altogether."

"Why?" Bram interrupted. "Was it because of my father?"

The Elder shook his head. "She divulged very few details, even when I pressed for them. Still, I took a risk and arranged for her to stow away aboard a vessel to the Northern Continent. Just as I was about to say goodbye, she called out to me. I suppose after seeing me go through so much trouble, she felt obliged to offer an explanation. That's when she told me that the Oracle had foretold a threat to her life, as well as the life of her child."

Bram was suddenly aflame with anger. "What kind of person would seek the death of a Gaian priestess's unborn baby? And how can you be sure my father wasn't involved?"

"Only because she assured me otherwise," the Elder confessed. "I asked for details so I could follow up later, but she refused to reveal your father's name. I still don't know, even to this day."

Bram pressed his lips together, his rage tempered by the suffocating saddened of knowing that his mother had been chased away from her home by an unknown assailant. "What happened next?"

The Elder looked grave. "I can only speculate, but I believe she eventually made it to Angkor, at which point she gave birth to you. And if she left you in the woods as you say, I can only assume it was to protect you."

Bram could not help it. His knees gave out and he sank to the floor. Though the Elder's story did not offer full closure, it lifted some of the weight from his soul. The tiresome burden he carried for so long had now been unshouldered. Since he was a boy, he had pondered his birth, wondering how his mother could have abandoned him. Now that he knew the truth, his emotions hit him in full force.

The Elder held out his hand. "There's still one more thing, Sir Morrison."

Bram looked up, regarding the hand numbly. Even so, the Elder was patient, holding his offering for as long as it took Bram to take it.

The knight finally did, speaking with a cracked voice as he rose to his feet. "Tell me … what else do you know?"

The Elder hesitated, his eyes deep with empathy. "I know about your brother."

Bram was already too overwhelmed to feel any more shock from the Elder's revelations. He merely stared back as the Elder spoke.

The old priest turned his head away. "You might consider it shameful, but I wanted to make sure that your mother's baby—that you—were healthy in the womb. So I cast a spell of white magic without her knowing. That's when I saw not one, but _two_ fetuses."

Bram ran a hand across his brow to wipe away the cold sweat that had started to form. It was finally time to tell the Elder everything he knew about Samuel Cortez.

As he spoke, the Elder listened attentively through the whole story. He never interrupted or asked any questions, but his eyes held the utmost sympathy.

When Bram finished, he felt remorseful. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. It's just hard knowing that I might have to face him—my own brother—as an enemy. I didn't want the others second-guessing what they ought to do."

The Elder shook his head. "I understand how painful it must be for you, but you will undoubtedly need to face him at some point."

Bram's fist clenched. "I know that!" he growled. "I'm just … not ready. He was willing to make me a puppet of the Ahriman, just so I could transport the sunstone. He would have sold my soul, just to advance his own agenda!"

The Elder put his hands on Bram's shoulders and peered deeply into his eyes. "Listen to me, young man. You can't succumb to hate so quickly. We're merely speculating on Samuel's motives, but we don't know for sure! We must gather more information before passing judgment. The way I see it, we should be more concerned with whomever sought to harm your mother in the first place."

Bram shook his head. "I don't understand. Whoever it was … they must be long gone. Do you really think it's relevant?"

"I most certainly do," the Elder asserted. "You're the first Grigori Knight in a millennium. You and your brother were born to be our salvation, and you should have lived your childhoods here, in Minoa, where you would have trained as Knights by birthright. The fact that your mother was hunted down and chased away—just as you were conceived—is simply too much to chalk up to coincidence! Whoever planned her assassination would have needed foresight beyond even the Oracle's powers. I'm certain this mystery is tied in some way to the Ahrimen, and it should be your priority to find out more, once you restore the sunstones to their rightful places."

Bram sighed, knowing the Elder to be correct. He should not have passed it off so quickly. With all that had happened, he was not thinking clearly. "So what do you suggest as my next move? I don't suppose it would do much good to sail to Malden at this point."

"As a matter of fact," the Elder stated, "I believe the best way to defeat the Ahrimen is to confront them directly."

Bram glared at the high priest. "You intend for me to travel to Angkor's capital? That would be like sailing straight into the ogre's den! They'd destroy my ship before I've even had the chance to dock!"

The Elder shook his head. "There may be another way, Sir Morrison. I'll explain, but I ask that you take Mica with you."

Bram huffed. "I'm open to your ideas, Elder, but I've already told you that I can't take on the responsibility of keeping her safe. Besides, there's too much at stake. If she should err and our journey ends because of it—what then? We don't know if she can be trusted to perform under pressure. She may be well-intentioned, but it's not worth the risk."

"Sir Morrison," the Elder looked at him humbly, "my request may go against your experienced judgment, but I ask that you have more faith. Don't judge Mica without traveling with her a bit longer. She has talents that I'm sure will help you on your journey. She may be young, but when it comes down to it, she won't disappoint."

Bram paused to consider it. The Elder had already steered him well with the Oracle. Perhaps his confidence in Mica would also prove well-placed.

"Very well, Elder," Bram agreed. "Since you're so confident, I'll put my trust in your wisdom."

The old priest smiled. "Thank you, Sir Morrison. As promised, I'll divulge one more of Minoa's secrets. This one is known as the Servant's Highway. Using this system, you should be able to make it inside the walls of Angkor's capital by tomorrow."

Bram was aghast. "Tomorrow? How is that possible?"

The Elder patiently explained. "When the Ancient Minoans still ruled, they built temples all over the world. In order to service them, the Gaian Priesthood built magical conduits that allowed the clergy to travel from one temple to another. They called it the Servant's Highway. It connects all of the temples together, including the one that used to exist in Angkor before the capital was built over it."

Bram was astounded. "There was once a Gaian temple in Angkor?"

The Elder smiled. "Long ago, yes. However, it was before the country unified, and it has long since been demolished. Even so, the old magical gateway still exists, and by activating our end, you can travel the distance in mere moments."

Bram was amazed, but also skeptical. "How do you know the magical gateway still works? What if the magic was disrupted when Angkor built over it? How do you know it won't transport us straight into rock and mortar?"

The Elder shook his head. "It doesn't work that way, Sir Morrison. The Gaian priests were quite savvy about the way they constructed their magic. Since old temples were often in a state of disrepair, the Servant's Highways were designed to bring the traveler to the nearest safe location. I happen to know that the pathway is still safe, because I've tested it myself. Of course, you'll need to travel with someone capable of activating its magic. Fortunately, Mica is one such spell-caster. You may leave for Angkor any time you wish."

Bram felt relieved, and his spirits rose to new heights. Realizing how reluctant he had been, he bowed his head in respect. "Once again, I was wrong to doubt you, Elder."

The high priest grasped his hands warmly. "This is our fight, too, Bram. I'll always be here to guide you through your journey, and will be praying for your success. May Mother Gaia protect you, sir!"

Bram felt better than he had in weeks. Drifting to the shores of Minoa had truly been a blessing, not a curse. With new truths revealed and his new Grigori powers, he finally had a chance to set things right.

"You, too, Elder," he said, now more confident than ever. "As soon as the others are prepared, we'll head out. It won't be easy, but this time we'll be ready."

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**End of Chapter 6**

_Dear Visitors, I offer you deep thanks for reaching this point in my story!_

_Please take a minute to leave a few words in a review,_

_It means so much to me to hear from my readers._

_Graciously yours, __~Jeff Howard~_

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_._


	83. Chapter 7: Part I

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**Chapter 7: Angkor, The Wanton Kingdom**

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**Part I**

_Night of Quartus, Twenty-Sixth Day of Autumnmoon_

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Géorg awoke to a gentle prodding. Tiny slats peeked open, eyes fighting against the sudden stream of bright light. Slowly, he tried opening them, to identify his unexpected visitor.

"Konrad?" he asked in a groggy voice. "What is it?"

His friend laid out a set of clothes on the end table. "You need to get dressed. Unruh is waiting."

Géorg scrambled upon hearing the king's name, throwing off bed sheets until he noticed with embarrassment that he was practically nude.

"The king asked for me, specifically?" he inquired as he stumbled toward the clothes. "This looks like a military uniform. What is this?"

"Put it on," Konrad instructed. "I will explain on the way."

Géorg did as he was told, his mind still full of cobwebs and sawdust. Konrad helped him assemble the uniform correctly, which included rolling up and pinning down the right-armed sleeve. He then followed Konrad out of his room, into the dark halls of the inn. The only light came from the golden glow of beeswax candles inside of bronze sconces hung along the wall, diffused into gentle blue moonlight, filtered through open windows. In spite of his shorter legs, Konrad kept a quick pace, and Géorg hurried to keep up.

"Are you going to explain where you are taking me?" he asked impatiently.

Konrad let out a nervous breath. "I apologize, Géorg. Things are happening very fast. It concerns the delivery of airships from the Clan Lord, Samir."

Géorg felt the blood drain from his face. "He did not renege, did he?"

Konrad shook his head. "No, but he set some new conditions. Unruh planned to launch the attack tonight, but now we must meet Samir's demands before we receive the additional ships."

Géorg's eyes went wide, and he nearly choked. "Tonight? Are you kidding me?"

He had never seen Konrad so serious. His friend responded somberly. "All preparations have been made. Our own fleet is ready to go, but we need Samir's reserves before we stand a chance. We cannot afford to be short of even a single ship."

"Then what are the new conditions?" Géorg wondered.

Konrad licked his lips. His hesitation spoke volumes. Géorg looked down at his clothes—navy-colored slacks and shirt, cleanly pressed, a matching jacket with brass buttons and silver stars adorning the lapel, the emblem of the Kitezhian air-force along the sleeves … it was the uniform of an airship captain. He broke into a cold sweat.

"He wants _me_ to lead the attack?" he asked incredulously. "Why?"

"You can ask him yourself," Konrad responded. "Lady White has a communications window open, and Unruh is speaking with Samir now. The generals are there, too; and the Ministry is nearby, ready to swear you in."

Géorg shook his head in disbelief, but he stifled his comments as he followed Konrad through the halls of the inn. When he reached Lady White's scrying room, it was crowded with people. He stepped slowly over the circles drawn on the floor, careful not to scatter any of the casting components, which would risk interrupting the spell.

The surrogate king beckoned him forward. "Did Konrad explain the situation?"

Géorg nodded, too short of breath to verbalize an answer. His heart pounded hard against his chest.

A voice came from an oval-shaped image hovering over the floor. It was Samir, and he looked happy to see him. "Géorg, my friend … the uniform suits you well."

Géorg stared back at the Clan Lord with eyebrows askew. "Is it true that you set new conditions before relinquishing your shipment?"

"Yes," Samir answered. "I want you to lead the attack."

Géorg scoffed. "Why? I have limited experience leading squadrons. It was years ago—and even then, only on the ground. I have never even been on an airship!"

"I presume you have been out at sea?" Samir asked, cracking a smirk. "It is the same thing. Just be careful not to get sick."

Heinz Unruh stepped in front of the portal. "This is no time for jokes. We have already sent you the gold you asked for—and it was a handsome sum, no less. We have chosen our own well-qualified officers to captain the fleet."

Samir looked at Unruh with a centuries-old and practiced disdain. "Indeed, you paid me well for my wares. But even so, I have no need for your money, _Your Majesty_." He uttered the title with disrespect. "Like other Clan Lords, I have no loyalties to other kingdoms. My interest from the beginning has been to assist the least of my enemies, so that they may topple the greater of my enemies."

Unruh met the Clan Lord levelly. "Your reasons are your own, but we had a deal—"

"Which I intend to honor," Samir interrupted, "so long as Mister Töller leads the mission."

"Why him?" Unruh insisted.

"Because …" Samir's words trailed off, as he looked vacantly off into the distance. "I lost three brothers to the War. Although I hold Angkor responsible for their deaths, I have no love of Kitezh for taking them from their wives and children, and putting swords in their hands."

"So … this is personal," Unruh accused.

"Yes, you could say that," Samir affirmed. "I have no reason to give the glory of this battle to a stranger, or to a country for whom I care nothing. But, Mister Töller is different. I trust him … and he reminds me of Dante, my brother. He loved the battlefield, too. It was in his blood. If you are successful in wounding Angkor, I want Géorg to share in the glory."

Géorg felt a flutter in his chest. It was flattering, sure—but the other part of what Samir said was also true. The battlefield _had_ been calling to him. He had not been in battle since losing his arm, but he wanted that part of his life returned to him more than _anything_. Perhaps it was also the reason why he traveled to his homeland in the first place. He had been comfortable in Saladin, but not happy. He needed more, and he felt his feet walk forward, as if another person were in control of his actions.

"I accept," he said, to glares from Unruh and the others. He felt he needed to explain himself. "I believe in what were are about to do. It is our best chance to strike, but if we hesitate, the element of surprise will disappear. These airships are our path to victory, and I can lead them!"

Konrad, Lady White, and Unruh exchanged glances, as if not expecting Géorg to step forward so eagerly. The surrogate king of Kitezh gave the one-armed man his full attention.

"I had hoped you would accept, Mister Töller, but are you certain that you can handle it? The stakes have never been higher."

"I do, My Lord," Géorg answered with confidence.

Unruh turned toward the portal. "Then you have your answer, Samir. Will you relinquish your shipment?"

The Clan Lord nodded. "I will honor our agreement."

Unruh nodded as well, and gave a gesture to Lady White to end the transmission. Géorg thought he caught the king utter a curse underneath his breath as soon as Samir's image disappeared.

"His words were truthful," Lady White revealed. "He intends to deliver the shipment, as agreed."

Géorg took note of Lady White's response. Unruh must have asked her to use her powers to make sure that Samir would not deceive them.

"The Ministry awaits in the next room," Konrad reminded. "I will let them know that Operation Rattlesnake is underway."

Unruh nodded, a gesture no doubt meant to give Konrad permission. The Primary Minister hastily left the room.

"Your Majesty," stated one of the generals. "The battle plan remains unchanged. We can brief Mister Töller as soon as he is sworn in."

Géorg started to feel overwhelmed. Everyone had made so many preparations, and it took him by surprise. It finally started to sink in that he had volunteered to make it all happen. They were counting on him.

"I will take Mister Töller to the Ministry," King Unruh suggested.

The others departed Lady White's cramped scrying room, scurrying to complete last minute activities. Géorg felt privileged to be in the king's presence.

"I want you to know that we are grateful for all you have done," Unruh told him. "Not just volunteering to lead the mission, but also for brokering the deal for the airships in the first place."

Géorg felt humbled. "It was my duty, Your Majesty."

"It was also courageous, Mister Töller. You might not get a lot of praise outside of our small inner circle. This is a secret operation. There will be no crowds to see you off, no cheers, and no pats on the back. Just you, and your life on the line, should anything go wrong. I hope you know what you are getting into, because as soon as you take off, there is no turning back."

"I do, My Lord," Géorg answered. "I have no reservations."

"Good," Unruh responded. "I hope you got some rest, because you are about to have a very long day. As soon as you are sworn in, the generals will brief you on the battle plans. From there, you will fly our fleet to the location in Saladin where Samir has the other airships. And then, you will head straight to Angkor. Gaia be with you, Soldier."

"Gaia be with all of us," Géorg echoed. "We _will_ be victorious."

The two men stopped in front of the door to the Ministry. Géorg reached forward to open it for his liege. Unruh smiled as he beckoned for Géorg to enter alongside him.


	84. Chapter 7: Part II

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**Part II**

_Evening of Diapente, Twenty-Seventh Day of Autumnmoon_

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Bram stepped out of the Servant's Highway into an alleyway between two residential buildings. Rays of light, tinted orange from a setting sun, dribbled over the rooftops. Nearly a thousand leagues of land and oceans had passed by in a matter of moments. During that time, Bram remembered careening over mountains and barreling through barrier reefs at breakneck speeds. Rows of city dwellings passed by in a blur.

The trip required no physical exertion, but due to its magical nature, his body was sapped of strength, leaving him short-winded and spinning with an attack of vertigo. He used the nearby brick wall for support, closing his eyes, trying to regain his sense of balance.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Do not be concerned," Mica consoled. "It can be disorienting, especially for first-time users. With time, the feeling will pass."

Her warm smile comforted Bram, who slowly felt his energy and optimism return. "I know where we are. We're inside the capital's Outer Sanctum, behind some residences, just south of the central square."

Matthias sighed with relief. "Good, looks like we made it." He stroked his beard while looking up at the reddening sky. "Should be just about supper time."

"Right on schedule," Bram agreed. "The changing of the guard should happen soon—the best time for us to sneak into the king's manor."

Earlier, Bram and Matthias had planned to arrive at dusk, which was a quieter time with fewer guards keeping watch. Bram expected King Richard to have at least one of the sunstones in his possession, so it made sense to stage some reconnaissance under cover of magic around his manor, then use any gathered intelligence to plan the next move. If the opportunity presented itself, Bram would confront Richard and take the sunstone by force. He only hoped his newfound powers would reveal themselves before it came to that.

"Gather around," Matthias instructed, "It's time to don our disguises. Just don't cast any magic or draw your sword, or the illusion will be ruined."

"Of course," Bram agreed.

"I promise," Mica added.

Matthias raised his arms and spoke the words of magic. Bram watched his silver Grigori armor change into a fine linen shirt. A blue doublet appeared over it, designed in the current Angkorian style. He vaguely remembered owning such a garment—a gift from Rosa, in fact—but at the time he had found it too foppish to wear in public. Now he felt somewhat soothed by the charming reminder of his lost love.

When it came time for Matthias, the old wizard created a fur-lined silken coat, along with purple hose—contemporary attire for Angkor—and popular, too. Lastly, Mica's garb formed into a scarlet-colored silk bodice with low rounded neckline and high collar, adding a level of maturity that Bram had not yet seen on the young priestess.

She raised her eyebrows, seeming to take note of his expression. "What is it?" she asked awkwardly.

Bram tried to hide his smile. "Nothing, I was just admiring how … sophisticated you looked."

"Now don't get too excited, you two," Matthias scolded. "We've got a lot of work to do, and plenty of danger if Richard unleashes the power of the sunstones against us."

Bram's blood chilled at the thought of an epic battle against the Ahrimen. He hoped it would not come down to that.

"Matthias is right," he admitted. "And not just Richard. Virgil Garvey might be here, as well as Samuel Cortez. They've already obtained three of the sunstones. We may have the element of surprise for now, but there's no telling what's in store for us."

Mica looked grim. "Are you sure your Grigori powers will help us if we have to face the Ahrimen?"

Bram still did not know how to use his powers, but he needed his team to perform with confidence, so he said something he thought would sound hopeful. "Don't worry, Mica. The Oracle told me my powers would be revealed at the right time, and I believe he'll steer us on the right path."

Matthias sighed. "Not that I want to be the naysayer, but I'd feel better if things were a bit more concrete. Sneaking into the king's manor and hoping to just run into the sunstones feels pretty foolish to me."

"I'm with Bram," Mica asserted. "I have faith that Gaia will protect us."

Bram noted the continued look of skepticism on the old wizard's face, but he gave Mica a reassuring smile. "I do, too. Let's just go over the plan one last time."

Mica looked a bit more confident, but Bram wished he felt the same. Matthias was right that following a hunch and hoping to be in the right place at the right time stood a high chance of failure. But with everyone's attention now focused on him, he had to be bold and hope for things to work out.

"Now that we have these disguises, we'll pose as nobles en route to the king's court. It's a daily occurrence, and no one should suspect. However, in order to pass by the authentication system, we'll need the right seals. I still have mine at Rosa's estate to the north, and I believe hers is still there as well. Once we retrieve them, Matthias here will modify Rosa's seal so that you, Mica, can use it."

"But that's only two seals," Mica argued. "What about Matthias?"

"I won't need one," the old wizard maintained. "I'll use my new teleportation magic to get inside."

"But what about King Richard's wizards," Mica pressed. "Aren't you worried about alerting the enemy with your spell?"

"That's a good point," Matthias acknowledged, holding up a forefinger. "Normally, the spell is complex enough to be detected by other wizards. However, with my elevated powers, I can reduce the radiance, making it harder for other wizards to detect."

"Good thinking, Matthias," Bram agreed. "Are we ready to move out?" Matthias and Mica nodded, and Bram led them to the front of the alley, where he was able to view the streets of the capital.

Very quickly, his heart sank. There was not a single resident, merchant, or entertainer in sight. Instead, numerous military units patrolled the streets.

He backed away from the entrance and scanned the ghastly shadow of his once noble city. The sides of the streets were once replete with opulent roses that bloomed in shades of ruby, rouge, and honey year-round, but now only withered stalks remained. The bronze statues at intersections, typically cleaned with a meticulous touch, were now stained with a patina of apathy. Meanwhile, the grand fountain in the center square was spattered with black and green algae. At every corner, ironwork was rusted and cobblestones cracked. What had once been an icon of wealth and power had deteriorated in a matter of weeks.

Under the king who Bram had once known, their city would never have reached such a state of disrepair. Richard had maintained a level of beauty, even during the War, when funds were tightly stretched. It seemed the Ahrimen's blight had already left lasting scars.

"Why so empty?" Mica whispered from his side. "Is it always like this in Angkor?"

"It must be some kind of martial law," Matthias suggested, "but it wasn't this bad the last time I was here—"

"You there!"

Bram's stomach clenched. One of the patrols had spotted them and rapidly headed in their direction. He cursed under his breath as his plans were already on the brink of unraveling.

"Don't say a thing!" he whispered to the others. "Let me handle this."

The soldiers wasted no time, quickly forming a circle around them with swords and spears drawn.

"What are you doing outside during curfew hours?" one of them demanded.

Bram noticed the eyes of the soldiers were coated with a blue film. He remembered seeing it once before. The base of Mount Abakai—his encounter with his former colleague, the Gnostic. Just as Victor succumbed to the control of evil magic, he had the same blue film appear over his eyes. Bram suspected it had to do the Ahriman's magic.

He had to think fast, figuring the guards might not act rationally. If there was indeed an imposed curfew, he had very few options that would allow him to maintain his cover.

"It's my father," he blurted out, thinking it fitting to utilize their disguises as noblemen. He gestured toward Matthias, who was savvy enough to feign feebleness as he bent over his cane. "He isn't well, and needed fresh air. We live right over there, in those apartments." Bram pointed to the nearby residences.

The guard in charge scowled. "Everyone else understands the penalty of wandering outdoors after suppertime. What's your excuse?"

Bram heard a voice enter his mind. "_Bram, it's me—Matthias. I'm contacting you through my magic. If you feel like you're in over your head, let me know. Otherwise, I'll play along_."

Bram tried to project his thoughts back to Matthias. "_Be careful. I think the blue film over their eyes means that they're being controlled by the Ahrimen_."

The soldier swung a gauntleted backhand, striking Bram squarely across the jaw. He was sent tumbling to the ground. "I asked you a question, _boy_!"

Bram tried to get back onto his feet, but felt the point of a sword against his cheek. He very slowly rose, careful not to make any sudden moves.

"And what about this one, 'ere?" another soldier jabbed his spear at Mica. "The bitch looks Koban. You trying to smuggle in foreigners? Speak, or we'll take you in for _questioning_!"

Bram held his tongue while projecting more thoughts to Matthias. "_Keep your cover! The closest jail is inside the Inner Sanctum. If they believe our disguises, they'll escort us through the gate without asking for our seals. We might not get another chance, and our cover will be blown either way. We can overtake them later_."

"You dare remain silent?" one of them threatened. "Bloody fool! You'll regret that!"

The soldier took the hilt of his sword and bashed Bram's head. Before the knight lost consciousness, he took a moment to regret having underestimated just how roughly these soldiers were willing to treat their own citizens. One soldier laughed, evidently enjoying the pain he had inflicted. Everything was wrong. Bram hoped Matthias heard his last warning as the world went black.

He did not know how long he had been knocked out, but when he eventually came to his senses, it was to the incessant prodding of an unnamed soldier. Bram saw that he was inside a darkened room, and his face ached all over—probably from the strikes he had received earlier. He struggled to move, but found himself restrained to a chair, his hands and feet bound tightly with twine.

Matthias and Mica were nowhere to be seen. Things had escalated quickly, and he regretted not calling upon Matthias before things had truly gotten out of hand. It all happened so fast, and he struggled in spite of the pain to think through the situation.

He looked down, noticing his garb had changed back into silver Grigori armor. Somewhere along the way, Matthias' illusion had expired. He tried to get his bearings, even as the soldier continued to slap his cheeks.

"He's awake," the soldier yelled. "Summon the interrogator."

Another unnamed soldier at the far end of the room opened the door and whispered to someone outside. A lithe but muscular figure entered, his features obscured by shadows.

"Why is the prisoner still clothed?" the figure asked. His voice was barely audible, but it sounded familiar.

"The armor won't come off," the soldier responded. "It must be some kind of magic."

"No matter," the shadowy figure maintained. "I will break him, one way or another." It almost sounded as if he had a Koban accent.

Bram tensed as the figure sauntered forward. When he came close, a sliver of light exposed his identity. Another slap in the face would not have surprised Bram more than when he came to recognize a trusted friend.

"Quon!" he cried—but then his heart skipped a beat. The Kenju Master had the same blue film covering his eyes. He spoke with a voice that was eerily devoid of emotion.

"Mister Morrison … we did not expect to see you so soon. You were quite brave to face us directly, but I am afraid your efforts were in vain. Once we have extracted the information we desire, we will make sure the Grigori Knighthood ends with you. If you fail to cooperate, the death you will receive will be far more painful."

"Who are you referring to?" Bram demanded, wondering if Quon might have meant Virgil or Samuel … or perhaps even the other Ahrimen. "Who's 'we' ?"

The voice of his friend chuckled. "I will be asking the questions from now on. Let me introduce you to this device."

He produced what appeared to be a scepter—the kind used by wizards or priests. However, it was made from a dark colored metal, faintly glowing with an indigo light. "This is capable of inflicting immense amounts of pain upon your body. Each time you fail to answer my questions, I will use it. Allow me to demonstrate."

Quon held the device at arm's length, and an arc of electrical energy surged into Bram's body. He screamed, every inch of his flesh burning, the tip of every nerve set aflame. It lasted only seconds, but it could have been an eternity. When it stopped, his skin buzzed with aftershocks of pins and needles.

"That was the lowest setting," Quon explained. "Each time you refuse to answer my question, I will increase its strength. Most men cannot survive the third setting."

"Quon, please!" Bram reasoned. "You're being controlled by the Ahrimen. You have to fight it!"

Quon's body laughed. "Words will not save you, Mister Morrison. Did you really think you could stand against us? You are a fool, and would be wiser to cease any further attempts to reach your friend. They are futile. The only way out of this room is inside a body bag. Now, my first question—how did you get inside the city?"

Bram stood strong and braced himself for more pain. Quon did not wait long before pointing the device back toward him. It pulsed with dark energy, shooting a beam of pure evil into his body. He howled, expelling his breath in an expression of sheer agony. The searing flames became sharp talons rending the flesh clean off his bones.

When it ended, he slumped forward in the chair, each muscle completely limp. He had been trained as a Gnostic to withstand most interrogation techniques, but this went far beyond anything he had previously experienced. He was not sure he could withstand another blast.

"I must warn you, Mister Morrison," Quon stated, "the next setting of this device may very well kill you—but if not, you will be in searing pain for a very long time—perhaps the rest of your pitiful life. The effect is quite amusing. It works by causing your muscles to contract, up to the point where they squeeze the very organs and blood vessels inside your body, causing every nerve to fire rapidly, even as you hemorrhage from every orifice."

Bram believed the threat, but he was out of ideas. His only chance was to stall. He hated to give any answers to the foul being in possession of Quon's body, but he had no options, no escape, and no hope. He had to capitulate!

"We traveled here through a magical gateway, constructed by the Minoans."

"I see," Quon mused as he started pacing. He paused, taking the time to walk from side to side, perhaps in deep consideration of Bram's response.

He looked back at the knight, as if the answer had suddenly dawned on him. "Of course … it could only be the Servant's Highway. There must have been a Gaian temple near this location that escaped our records." He then addressed the soldier in the room, who by now had gathered a scroll and quill. "Let the record show that the prisoner has admitted to using the Servant's Highway."

Quon stepped in front of Bram's vision. Inside the Kenju Master's blue filmy eyes, Bram could sense another force in control. There was no doubt that Abaddon had some kind of direct link into its human vessels. It meant that any one of the Angkorian soldiers under its influence would be the same as confronting the Ahriman itself. There was no life behind those eyes. Not a shred of humanity!

"My next question, then," it continued without expression. "Where did you get the Grigori artifacts?"

Bram stood firm for just an instant, but caved as soon as he saw Quon's hand clench around the torture device. "They were given to me by the Oracle of Minoa."

Quon's body began to laugh. "Is that what he calls himself these days? Tell me, what did he say to you?"

Bram gritted his teeth, infuriated with how easy he was making it for the enemy to learn his every secret—especially when he was promised nothing but death in return. But it seemed like there was no other way. He knew of no one coming to help, nor did he have any ideas for how to escape the threat of torture behind every question. He wondered what the Ahriman meant when it mocked the Oracle's name.

"What did you mean?" Bram asked, taking every opportunity to stall the inevitable. "What else would the Oracle be called?"

The force inside Quon's body regarded him curiously as it peered deeply into Bram's eyes. "I would not have believed it, but I think you truly do not know." The former Kenju Master's gaze was piercing, as if it hoped to find the answers inside of Bram's head. "Did you really come all this way, ignorant of the one who sent you? Do you even know what _you_ are, I wonder?"

"I know who I am," Bram asserted, streams of sweat flowing down the sides of his face. "I am _Grigori!_"

But the Ahriman seemed to think it was funny.

When Quon was done laughing, his amused façade turned back into something far more frightening. "This one has no more useful information," he announced to the guard. "Let the record show that he died knowing nothing. We have finally disposed of the last of our threats."

Quon's body once again clenched the torture device.

"No, stop!" Bram begged, desperate to reach out to his friend. "You are Quon Nan, Kenju Master of Koba! You are honorable and compassionate, and you would never harm a friend. Please! You must come to your senses!"

Bram continued to plea to Quon, right up until he was struck by the device's magical current.

His entire body shook and every one of his muscles clenched, feeling as though they were about to crush the very bones beneath them. Even with the excruciating pain, he was determined to face the Ahriman. He focused all his mental strength, just to maintain his iron gaze. The magical energy tore his body apart, and he started to feel disconnected from his mind … when a voice called out to him. He did not understand the words, but he knew what it directed him to do—and he did it.

From the core of his body, a bright white flash of light erupted. Quon's body along with the unnamed soldier flew backward, landing on their backs, completely still. And the room dimmed.

Bram's own body shook and seized. He nearly choked as bile rose from his throat, spilling from his numb open jaw, running along his cheek and onto his silver armor.

And the pain! Had he any control over his body, he would have ripped his flesh right off, just to end it. He forced his mind to focus on moving, but his arms and legs did not respond. Even if his limbs had listened, they were still securely fastened in the wooden chair. Tears streamed down his face as he begged the Goddess to let him die.

From the edge of his blurred vision, he saw Quon's body begin to stir—and he hoped the Ahriman would finally put him out of his misery. The Kenju Master's body rolled into a sitting position and shook his head. He then looked directly at Bram, revealing a pair of eyes that had returned to normal.

"Dear Gaia …." The words trailed off of Quon's tongue as he bolted to his feet and ran to Bram's chair. Bram would have felt relieved, except for the pain that invaded every aspect of his being. There was no peace … no reprieve … just intense, horrifying pain!

"Goddess, help me," Quon prayed as he used his boot knife to cut the twine binding Bram's hands and legs.

As soon as the restraints were removed, Bram fell into a heap of vomit-streaked Grigori armor. Quon dug his foot into the ground to brace himself while trying to lift the heavy silver plates. He placed an arm around Bram's waist and hoisted the rest of the limp knight onto his shoulder. The deadweight of flesh and armor must have been immense, as Quon was straining every muscle.

The Kenju Master took a step forward, then froze. Bram was unable to turn his head, but he heard the clink and clank of armor as the unnamed soldier rose to his feet. Quon kept silent, probably waiting to see if the man would still be under the influence of the Ahriman.

When the man spoke, he sounded terrified. "No … dear Gaia, _no!_ What have I done? What in the Burning Pits _have I done_?"

"Please … pull yourself together," Quon pleaded. "I need your help."

"No, no, no," the man panicked. "I'm getting out of here!"

"Wait!" Quon cried. "Tell me where to find the Koban girl and the wizard."

"Down the hall, on the other side," the man yelled back. Bram heard the opening and closing of the heavy cell door as the unnamed soldier scampered out of the room.

Quon sighed bitterly. "Bram … I _need_ you to walk. Please." His voice was soft, but filled with heightened urgency.

The pain! Bram burned with it all over, but he put every ounce of effort into working his legs. Sweat oozed from every pore on his body.

"You are doing well," Quon coached. "Keep it up."

Bram ground his teeth together. It was so hard to focus. It hurt so badly—more than he could take—but he forced one leg in front of the other, groaning with what felt like knives stabbing through his feet each time they touched the ground.

"You can do it, Bram! One more step." Quon kept a positive attitude, even as his voice was filled with remorse. It was clear the Kenju Master took responsibility for what his body had done while under the Ahriman's spell, but he continued forward resolutely. Bram's head dangling limply to the side, giving him limited visibility as he was dragged across the room's filthy floor.

Quon grunted as he strained against the burden. Bram wanted to do everything he could to help—but each step was agonizing! It felt like wading through an ocean of broken glass. Even subtle movements sent thousands of those shards cutting microscopic pieces of flesh. He wanted to scream, but he did not have the strength.

"We are almost there, Bram." Quon sounded hopeful. "Just a bit more."

Bram saw that they had arrived in front of a cell. He prayed to the goddess that Mica and Matthias were still alive. He could not live with himself if anything had happened to them. He prepared himself as Quon opened the door.

The room was dark, much like the last one. The only thing Bram could see from his angle were two body bags lying on the floor. He could no longer hold back. His emotions took over and he started to weep. Quon sank to his knees and propped Bram against the wall.

Bram found his voice as he mumbled curses under his breath. He had failed his friends, failed the Oracle, and failed the world. Tears streaked down his swollen and stinging face. "It's … all my fault!"

Suddenly, a man stepped out of thin air, followed by a young woman. Bram stared at them in pure disbelief … but then realization dawned—it was Matthias and Mica! His heart soared, but he no longer knew what was real, or just a mirage borne of a maimed and tortured mind.

"Oh, Gaia!" Mica cried, covering her mouth with both hands. "What have they done to you?"

She sank to her knees before Bram and began casting spells of healing. Matthias joined her. It felt like a bad burn submerged into icy cold water—except that it was his entire body. The pain slowly melted away, but his muscles were still limp.

Matthias shook his head. "I don't know what they did to you, but I've never seen anything like it. I'm surprised you're still alive. And who's this! Friend or enemy?"

"Friend," Bram blurted out to set the record straight. His mouth was still sore, but he worked it to explain. "He was under the control of the Ahriman … but no longer."

"How can you be sure, Bram?" Matthias challenged. "He's dressed like one of _them_. Is he responsible for what happened to you—?"

Quon raised his hands defensively. "Please, sir and madam! I could not help myself, once I breathed in the blue smoke …." His voice cracked, and he looked on the verge of falling apart. "But I swear … I am myself once more. I beg you for the chance to atone for my sins."

"I will vouch for him," Bram stated. "He's the Kenju Master of Koba, and among the most honorable men I've met. If it weren't for him, I'd be helpless in the next room."

The old wizard's shoulders slumped, and he seemed to relax. "Very well, then. We could use all the help we can get." He turned his head toward Mica, whose face was still deathly pale. "She's seen more than her share of violence today, but other than that, we're unharmed."

Bram looked behind Matthias to the body bags on the ground. "Then who are in those?"

The old man's face slid into a grimace. He remained silent, while Mica tried speaking in between a few gentle sobs. "They … they came to kill us! We had no choice …." Her body was shaking.

"We need to get out of here," Quon urged. "The next shift will be here soon."

He tried to help Bram to his feet, but the knight's knees were still like jelly. Matthias bent over to help.

"Healing magic only goes so far," the old wizard complained as he brought Bram to a standing position. "Your body will mend, but it'll take a bit of time."

"Your magic has already done so much, my friend," Bram responded. "The pain was unbearable. It was some kind of torture device, designed by the Ahrimen."

Matthias shook his head. "We were clearly foolish to have come here so unprepared. But there's no point in punishing ourselves now. We need to regroup and figure out what to do next." He turned toward Quon. Where's the best place to hide?"

"There is an entrance on the side of this building," the Kenju Master explained. "It leads to a series of service tunnels into the city's water and sewage framework. We will be safe there, at least for a little while."

"It also connects to the Substratum," Bram added. "If we follow the tunnels straight through, we might still find another way to catch up to King Richard."

Matthias' eyes went wide. "You can't be serious! We've only faced a fraction of the Ahriman's power, and it nearly killed us!"

"All the more reason to press on," Bram argued. "If this is a mere fraction, just imagine what will happen if Richard gathers all four sunstones!"

Quon pressed his lips together, his face hard as stone. "If I am to ever live with myself after what I have done, I must help you to defeat these beings of pure evil."

Mica looked at everyone with trembling lips. "The Ahrimen are a scourge upon our planet. It _must_ be cleansed!" She bowed her head and said no more.

Bram set his gaze upon Matthias. "I know it's asking a lot, my friend, but I know what we discussed at the base of the Great Crevasse. Are you still with me?"

The old wizard's grimace returned, and he clenched his fist. "You're damn right I am!"

"Good," Bram returned, "because I finally know how to use my Grigori powers."


	85. Chapter 7: Part III

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* * *

**Part III**

_Evening of Diapente, Twenty-Seventh Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

After a toiling and bothersome search, Virgil Garvey finally found the man he had been looking for. Samuel Cortez was in the large hangar at the bottom of Angkor's underground Substratum, just as the Zounds prototype was in the midst of final preparations. Virgil had suspected the Gnostic Knight would want to be aboard its maiden voyage.

The prototype filled the cavern with its gargantuan bulk, forcing all other ships to the sides to make room. It was built in the vertical position, with the bow pointed upward and stern facing the floor. That way, it could be raised out of the Substratum lengthwise—a necessary procedure, since it would have otherwise exceeded the silo's width.

Once airborne, Zounds would never again need to touch the ground. All upgrades, repairs, and refueling could be done in-flight. It was state-of-the-art, representing man's greatest achievement, a work of brilliant mechanical design, fueled by magic in liquid form—manna. It was a triumph of human engineering, and it gave Virgil everything he needed to fulfill the final stages of his master's plan.

Samuel waited on the loading dock with his crew of henchmen, which included some of Angkor's strongest black and white wizards, Knights, and Templars. The Gnostic had managed to recruit them without Abaddon's compulsion magic, claiming instead that he had gained their loyalty through his own charisma and promises of power.

Virgil chuckled. Whom did he think he was kidding?

"I thought I'd find you here," he announced behind the knight's back.

Samuel spun around to face him. "You thought correctly." He gave the mighty airship a grandiose introduction by waving his arm in a wide arc.

"Behold! The sensors we've placed along the ship will help us to find both the moonstones and the tower. We've waited a long time, but at long last, our efforts have borne their first fruit."

The sensors that Samuel referred to were the so-called "black boxes"—features that Virgil had installed to detect certain artifacts, even when hidden behind rock and stone. No place on the planet could escape notice—neither the center of the widest mountains, nor the bottom of the deepest canyons. With Zounds as his fortress base, Virgil intended to reactivate a mysterious structure known as Axismundi. Located deep within, he would find the long-forgotten pathway he had long sought.

However, key ingredients were needed to access the tower's innermost cloister. These included the four sunstones as well as their corresponding moonstones.

"Are you sure the ship is airworthy?" Virgil asked.

Samuel stared back through his Gnostic helm, his expression unreadable. "It implements the latest design changes, including those completed by the Grand Craftsman last night. The engineers have assured me that the design is fully functional. It might be just a prototype, but it's robust enough to serve our purposes."

"Impressive," Virgil responded. "The progress went faster than I expected. It seems we're back on track. I look forward to getting on board."

"Not so fast," Samuel spoke in his usual low but commanding voice. "You'll remain here."

Virgil's eyes narrowed. "Says who?"

"Abraham Morrison is in Angkor. He's come to try to stop us."

Virgil laughed. "Your brother? Truly? I wonder how he managed—"

"It was the Minoans," Samuel cut him off. "Don't ask me how he got there, but the Elder opened up the Servant's Highway for him. Not only that … but Abraham also spoke with the so-called _Oracle_."

Virgil's gleeful expression melted, though a part of him wondered how Samuel had managed to gain so much valuable information. "How much does he know?"

"Not much," Samuel responded. "Yet his powers have awakened. You know I can't face him without a moonstone in hand."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "So you want _me_ to do it? It's a waste of my time. Let Abaddon deal with him."

Samuel pointed his forefinger accusingly. "You would risk losing the Pisces Stone? After all it took to get it?"

Virgil's insouciant expression returned. "Abaddon's powers are immense. Abraham has no chance."

"Arrogant fool!" Samuel's voice boiled over with anger. "What if he succeeds?"

Virgil pressed his lips together. "Then we'll take the sunstone back later."

"No!" Samuel's voice was firm, carrying a level of authority that would not be challenged. "You'll stop him _now_, and make sure Richard comes aboard Zounds as an empty shell—as you promised. If all goes well with Libicocco, we'll have the Capricorn Stone shortly. Then it's off to Axismundi to finish this!"

Virgil scowled. He did not remember allowing Samuel to dole out commands. Not to mention the knight seemed to know a bit _too much_ about Abraham to have heard it all from his subordinates. He was likely using Belial's All-Seeing Eye—a magical power unique to the Sagittarius Stone. And if he was drawing from the Ahriman freely without a moonstone in hand, he was leaving himself open to all kinds of trouble.

Virgil grinned, willing to accept Samuel's orders—for now. After all, why push back, when it was far more fun to watch things play out?

With nothing more to say, he left the hangar. Not that he wanted to miss the massive airship's formidable launch—nor did he leave due to Samuel's insistence. Rather, he was eager to pay Abraham Morrison a visit. He had waited a long time to confront the former Gnostic, and he was eager see what Bram had learned.

He looked over his shoulder as Samuel stepped onto the platform that would lift him and his henchmen into the Zounds airship. At the knight's right hand was Kane Harding, whom Samuel had accepted as his so-called apprentice. The Templar wore his usual stoic look as he joined his master. Virgil sneered. He had never liked the man.


	86. Chapter 7: Part IV

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* * *

**Part IV**

_Evening of Diapente, Twenty-Seventh Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

At the request of his Communications Minister, Heinz Unruh set up a convocation with the citizens of Rungholt. Information on the counter-strike had already begun to leak, and it seemed like the right time for the surrogate king to address his understandably anxious people. If the attack failed, Angkor would undoubtedly return and enact devastating vengeance upon the rest of the city. It was the king's responsibility to quell such fears—even Henrich Brandt had once held a similar assembly during the War—and Heinz believed he could do an even better job of boosting morale.

He started by meeting with the heads of each of his ministries. They discussed proper venue, maintenance of security measures, screening, and crowd control. He proposed to begin his speech with a twelve minute introduction on the topic of national unity, followed with a short update on the state of city reconstruction. He would of course mention the restoration of certain public functions previously rendered unavailable since the attack to show his citizens that their government was making solid progress.

Finally, he wanted to offer his vision for the future. He called it the "Post-Brandt Era", a set of initiatives aimed at returning Kitezh to the stage of world superpowers. Never again would the people's proud nation be the target of bullying neighbors. He especially hoped to persuade those citizens still yearning for an heir of the Brandt family to accept that Heinz' new order would bring them happier times. Better times.

The ministries proposed to set the event an hour before dusk, giving Heinz ample daylight to complete his speech. Afterward, he would return to Lady White's scrying room to contact the Kitezhian air fleet. By nightfall, the ships were expected to near Angkor's capital, which he intended to view via a magical link.

He told his Ministry that his presence was necessary to provide leadership in case the plan faltered—but in truth, he wanted to watch Angkor react to their first real wound. It was something they had not felt since the early days of the War, and Heinz looked forward to watching the flames of his firebombs consume their precious city. He even daydreamt of the pathetic look on Cromwell's face while making the final preparations for his speech.

He chuckled at the thought while standing back-stage. Around him, a structure had been built on short notice by the royal construction team. It was quite a feat, considering a third of their members had perished in the attack. The wood was unstained, but sturdy. A majestic wooden spire towered over the stage, overlooking one of Rungholt's historic parks, which stood on the intersection of two roads holding a great deal of national importance. The ministries felt the location would be a poignant reminder of past crises, and serve as proof that Kitezh had survived prior ordeals.

People soon gathered in large numbers, crowding the streets around the stage. The clear and calm sky drew families from their homes. A band played the national anthem in the background, a gentle hymn with rolling notes that lifted doubtful spirits. Heinz hoped to time his speech along with the setting sun, easily befitting his theme of ending one era to usher in a new one.

He found himself rubbing his hands together in anticipation, one of the nervous habits he could never quite kick. He practiced some of the rhetoric in his head, including a catchy phrase or two that he had been eager to use. He was so caught up with his thoughts that he never noticed the man approach. The hoarse sound of someone clearing his throat had Heinz whipping his head around, ready to lash out at his rude visitor.

The rebuke never left his tongue. As soon as he recognized the man, he muffled his voice to something approximating a hiss. "I told you never to meet me in a public setting!"

The man responded humbly. "I would not have bothered you, my Lord, except the matter is quite urgent."

"I do not care if the inn is on fire!" Heinz barked in his heightened whisper. "In five minutes, I will speak before nearly forty thousand Kitezhian citizens, and you are not even supposed to exist!"

The man lowered his eyes, but remained calm. "It is regarding the prince, Sire."

Heinz opened his mouth again and paused. Thinking twice, he urged the man to continue with a rolling of his hand.

The man took a deep breath. "This morning, our pigeons arrived with a letter from an unknown source. The contents have already been analyzed by our experts. It is not clear how our plan had failed, but now we know that the prince is no longer in our company."

Heinz felt an ache slowly develop behind his eyes and ears, but he fought against the temptation to rub his temples. "Go on …" he ordered.

"In short, the note demanded a ransom for the boy's safe return. It went on to threaten his life, should we fail to comply."

Heinz raised his eyebrows. "What about word from our own men?"

"We have received none since the last communication. We should presume they are dead."

Heinz's stomach knotted. "Are you certain the boy is truly in the sender's possession?"

The man took a deep breath. "The letter contained a strip of clothing with the Brandt family crest. It was stained with blood, and our wizards confirmed that it belongs to the prince."

Heinz felt his fingertips go numb. The powerful words of his speech still hung on his tongue, but now they tasted bitter.

"Sire, what is your command?"

Heinz considered his options. He had no love for the brat kid, but many in Kitezh did. Heinz considered himself a patriot and was unwilling to see his citizen's morale plummet upon word of the heir's death. If he quietly paid the ransom, he would still have a chance to stall the prince's return before the boy upset any of his plans.

Although, he quivered in fear at one thought in particular. If Józef managed to connect him to the original kidnapping, he could seek charges upon his return. Not that the boy was smart enough to do it on his own, but if he had help, it would send the country into a legal tailspin, right when Heinz needed to defend Kitezh against the enemy. He could not afford to take the risk—not at this point!

"I want you to do nothing," he told the man bluntly.

"Nothing, my Lord—?"

"Ignore all future correspondence from the unknown source. Instead, I want you to find others to replace our fallen comrades. We cannot afford to be shorthanded."

The man looked aghast. "Do you realize what will happen if the ones behind this letter follow through with their threat?"

"Let _me_ deal with that," Heinz insisted. "Question not my methods, and trust that I have Kitezh's best interests at heart."

"Yes, my Lord." The man bowed and left.

Moments later, Heinz' Communications Minister appeared on the wing of the stage, announcing that it was time to address the assembly. "You may begin at any time, Your Majesty. Approach the podium when ready."

Heinz took a deep breath, slowly exhaling as he forced himself into the right frame of mind. Soon, Henrich's brat of a son would no longer be a diversion. He would have to live with the consequences, but least he could give his country's future the full attention it deserved. With that uplifting thought in mind, he adjusted his regal vestments and approached the stage.


	87. Chapter 7: Part V

**.**

* * *

**Part V**

_Night of Diapente, Twenty-Seventh Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

_Corpses … blood … so many dead. Because of him. His body … acting on its own. Losing his mind! Brutality … animus … mad laughter. Cannot stop. Violence. Murder._

"_Gaia … help me …._"

Waking from the Ahriman's compulsion magic did not make the nightmares go away—not for Quon Nan. He remembered his deeds with every waking thought. They haunted him, long after he regained control of his body. Abaddon had forced him to do terrible things … things he could never forget!

Prior to his capture, Quon had been a man who wore his honor as a badge, trusting it to elicit admiration and respect from those around him. His father had instilled in him an ideal that only acknowledged men who upheld a similar standard. The rest of the world was unworthy—a cesspool of thugs and delinquents—cretins who should receive neither love nor understanding, only the justice they rightly deserved.

And yet, when Quon went under the Ahriman's evil spell, his first assignment was to supplement the mercenaries in charge of apprehending Kitezhian foreigners. He was one of the brutes who dragged mothers and fathers from their homes, mercilessly tossing them into carts en route to the internment camps. Once there, these innocents were killed in the most ruthless and horrific ways imaginable. Throats slit, bodies dismembered, then carelessly dumped in unmarked ditches with family and loved ones left to wonder their fate.

All the while, Quon wept inside. He was conscious the whole time, but unable to wrench his body free from the Ahriman's control. He felt dirty … _compromised_. Each senseless death was a stain on his soul. His lifelong badge of honor now tarnished beyond recognition. He became the same garbage his father would have despised. He was ashamed and embarrassed, fearful to face even the one person he needed the most—his beloved wife, Katharina.

He worried for her safety, but could never return in his current state of mind. He wished he could erase the last ten days—to wipe them clean from his past and make it so it never happened. Even Bram Morrison was granted such a blessing. Once a Gnostic Knight, responsible for the same villainy that would have driven Quon's father into a righteous fury, received pardon from the Oracle. His past was expunged, and he was given a second chance to regain his honor.

Envy smoldered in Quon's heart. He was far more deserving than a former Gnostic, but even so, some part of him held his jealousy in check. He knew that Bram was different from other Knights … attentive … empathetic. He consoled Mica, the poor Minoan priestess who had just been exposed to incredible brutality while at the Judiciary Center. She was hardly even an adult, and had never seen such savagery in her life. No amount of historical or social studies could have prepared her for facing death firsthand.

And yet Bram, a product of war and brutality himself, treated her with kindness and understanding. The two spoke softly as they marched through Angkor's water and sewage service tunnels—old rock passages covered with black moss, completely dark except for Matthias' and Mica's magical light beacons.

Quon led the march, since he had become familiar with the tunnels while under the Ahriman's spell. They were vast, with multiple places to hide, providing temporary succor against the sweeps of Angkorian soldiers who were no doubt searching for their missing prisoners.

Quon walked in silence, using the personal time to process all that had happened, trying vainly to sort through his tangled emotions. Perhaps the gray wizard felt similarly, since he also wore a taciturn expression as he marched. After an hour or so of sleuthing, Bram approached.

"Are you all right, Quon?"

The Kenju Master could have used more time for self-reflection, but he was ready to quench at least one burning question. "My wife … Katharina … I have heard nothing of the aftermath of the attack on my country."

Bram's face drooped with remorse. "I'm so sorry, Quon. I should have told you right away. Katharina's fine, and so is Zhao Peng. Angkor left the city as soon as Samuel seized the sunstone."

A sudden surge of relief melted Quon's shoulders, releasing the tension that had tangled his muscles into tight knots. The thought of Katharina gave him hope in the midst of so many regrets. He needed her touch, but dared not face her—not while burdened with so much anguish. He would not be able to bear it if his tarnished conscience got in the way of their relationship.

Just then, he realized he was being selfish. He noted Bram's dour expression, and knew the knight had more to say. The creases around his eyes spoke of similar regret, more than words ever could.

"I must also apologize, Bram. I have been so preoccupied with my own concerns that I have rudely neglected yours. You already told me of your adventures in Minoa—how you were reunited with Matthias and given the gifts from the Oracle—but I also wanted to ask about Rosa and Uriana. I can tell from your expression that there is grief behind that story."

Bram turned his head aside, probably to hide the heartache. "They're both missing … but fortunately not dead …." He went on to describe what happened to them, as well as the encouraging words from the Oracle.

Quon let out a deep breath. "We will find them, Bram. I promise to help you."

The knight held a hopeful smile. "What about you? You've yet to explain what happened directly after the attack."

The Kenju Master winced as a flood of painful memories burst over the damn he had raised to sequester his emotions. He paused only a moment to collect himself, but Bram was quick to pick up on it, his face softening with sympathy. "Quon … what did they do to you?"

Though it pained him to think about it, the Kenju Master forced himself to relive what happened. "I remember fighting Angkorian troops at the palace gates. We had hoped to hold them off long enough for reinforcements to arrive, but we were quickly overwhelmed. Large numbers of units transported down from the airship above, including a Gnostic Knight. He had _incredible_ powers in the black arts, which he used to put me and my men into a deep slumber."

Mica gasped, suddenly tuning in and wanting to join the conversation. "It must have been Samuel!" Quon saw the change come over Bram as soon as the name left the priestess' lips. The knight's brows crossed, and his mood darkened.

"Yes," the Kenju admitted. "I crossed paths with him a few other times while under the Ahriman's spell, but I never fully understood his role. Bram … you mentioned earlier that he is your brother, but do you know how he got involved in all of this?"

Bram huffed. "I wish I knew. I never even realized I had a brother until a couple of days ago."

Quon was amazed that Bram knew so little, and yet seemed willing to slough it off. "But you are a descendant of the Ancient Minoans … meaning Samuel was also born to fight against the Ahrimen. Yet, by gathering the sunstones, he risks releasing them into the world! Have you ever considered his motives?"

"Of course I have!" Bram growled. Quon recoiled when the knight dug in his heel and pivoted. The march ground to a halt.

Bram closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if trying to summon forth some measure of peace. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lash out, but I've done nothing _but_ obsess over Samuel's motives. We're blood, and yet he wanted to use me to transport the Koban sunstone. He would have made me into a vessel for the Ahriman! If Uriana hadn't stopped me before I touched it …."

Quon shuddered as he thought of a person having one of those demons living inside of them.

"Even so," Bram continued, "I can't let my anger control me. Please, Quon, accept my apology and continue your story."

Quon nodded, realizing the knight had his own demons to tame. The Kenju Master stepped forward and continued the march. He spoke as he walked, using the repetitive exercise to organize his thoughts.

"When we were captured, we were brought back to Angkor aboard the Goliath. The enemy tortured the weakest among us for information, but the strongest of us were brought into a large room, somewhere deep in the Substratum. I remember seeing a horrible creature, beyond the depths of human imagination. When it breathed upon us, blue smoke gushed out of its gaping maw. It took control of our minds as soon as we breathed it in. Even though we saw the world in front of us, our bodies obeyed the monster's every command. I became a puppet willing to perform the darkest of deeds … and I remember _everything_."

Quon saw flashes of past events circle in his head. So many innocents—all with blood on _his_ hands! He grieved for every one of them, but refused to shed tears.

"Sounds like mind compulsion … only worse," Matthias commented.

"You faced Abaddon in his true form," Bram explained, his eyes staring out into empty space, his voice distant. "It has unique mind control powers. Long ago, Abaddon used those powers to manipulate people in the worst ways imaginable. It would find pleasure in watching mothers kill their daughters, or husbands rape their wives. If you breathe in the blue smoke, it would control your every action. Very few men can escape, once they've been ensnared."

Matthias stared at the knight as if looking at a mountain troll. "What did you say? Is that something you heard from the Oracle?"

Bram shook his head, as if snapping out of a trance. "No … it was like a piece of information that I've always known."

"Do you think you remembered it because of your Grigori powers?" Mica suggested.

Bram seemed to consider it. "I think so."

"It has to be," Quon asserted. "Your powers freed me from the Ahriman's spell. The white light … it filled my entire body, and all of a sudden I could control myself again!"

"I know," Bram answered. "I only wish I knew how I did it. It just … happened, right when I needed it to."

Matthias and Mica looked discouraged by Bram's words, but Quon pressed on. "Do not underestimate what this means. You may need time to fully understand your powers, but it is proof that the Oracle was right about you. Now you can help others who have been corrupted by the Ahriman's magic. The entire city is infected, including many of my Kenju Warriors—but you can finally help them!"

"Whoa, whoa," Matthias interrupted. "We don't have time to help everyone. It's hard enough, just staying alive!"

"But I think we should," Mica argued. "Being under the Ahriman's spell is worse than torture!"

"We might be able to do both," Bram suggested, his eyes brimming with determination. "If we defeat Abaddon, it will break the spell affecting the entire city."

Matthias stopped dead in his tracks. "Now just hold on! Risking our lives to find the sunstone is one thing, but you want us to face the Ahriman directly?"

"It's one in the same, Matthias," Bram pointed out. "Richard will have the sunstone in his possession, and the Ahriman is inside of it. There's no doubt he'll use Abaddon's powers against us."

Matthias held out his hands pleadingly. "And you expect us to face it? You just got finished telling us that you're unsure how to even use your powers!"

"I'll know when the time comes," Bram returned with confidence. "We've made it this far, even with the odds stacked against us. But I can't make any promises. We may not all make it out alive, but I intend to face the Ahriman, even if I have to do it myself. If you want to turn back, now's the time!"

Quon stepped forward. He had to fight. He would do anything to make the nightmares go away. "There is no turning back for me. After what the Ahriman forced me to do, I _must_ confront it—and defeat it!"

"I am with you, too, Bram," Mica added. "Walking away now would be irresponsible. We cannot allow the Ahrimen to remain on Gaia."

Matthias glared at them, his arms crossed. After a few moments, he cursed under his breath. "I guess I'm in, too. It's not like going back aboveground is any safer."

An emboldened smirk crept upon Bram's face. "These tunnels will lead straight into the Substratum. I've already begun to feel the sunstone's presence. It's weak, but I know we're headed in the right—"

The knight paused and his eyes wandered deep into the tunnels. "Did you hear that?"

There was a sound in the distance … thuds, hollow, echoing. Quon heard it, too.

Mica looked fearful. "Did they find us?"

"No," Quon answered. "It sounds … yes, like a single set of footsteps, running down the tunnel."

"We should investigate," Bram urged. "No one would intentionally come down here alone."

"They could be running from something," Mica suggested.

"And you want _us_ to face it, instead?" Matthias challenged.

"Mica has a point," Quon's hand went to the hilt of his Angkorian short sword. "Sometimes, spawn stumble into the waterways. Better to know what kind of danger lurks down here, than to run into it unprepared."

Bram agreed and started down the tunnels. Mica followed, and though Matthias wore a scowl, he went, too. Quon kept a tense hand, ready to draw his sword at the first sign of trouble.

About a hundred spans further down, a young Angkorian soldier appeared from around a sharp corner. He skidded to a stop as soon as he made eye contact.

"Wait!" Bram called out, hands away from his weapon.

The young man looked barely old enough to qualify for military service. Thankfully, his eyes were unaffected by the strange blue film. He seemed unsure of what to do, teetering halfway between drawing his sword and running back the way he had come.

"We mean you no harm," Bram insisted. "What are you running from?"

The boy's gaze darted from one person to the next—squinting, searching—perhaps to validate that the blue film did not exist on anyone else's eyes. The soldier eventually looked satisfied—relaxed, though still clearly short of breath.

"I don't know … who you are," he said in between gasps of air, "but I'm glad … you're not … one of _them_!"

"Who?" Bram demanded.

"The ones … with the fiery blue eyes!" The soldier's entire body shook in mortal terror. "My friends are all under the demon's spell … and so was I, until just recently. When the others found out, they forced me to go back … to breathe in more of the smoke."

"It's going to be all right," Bram assured him.

"You are safe, now," Mica echoed. "And we can reverse the spell and save your friends, too!"

Matthias shot her a cautious glance.

The young soldier practically fell to his knees. "Thank the Goddess! All I want is to find my family and leave this city for good. But my friends … we've been brothers in arms for many years. I couldn't live with myself if I ran away without helping them."

Matthias' lips tightened. It looked like he was about to say something, but instead Bram rushed forward to speak up. "We won't let your friends remain victims to these evil powers. What's your name, Soldier?"

The young man was all smiles. "Givry, sir—Galiver Givry. My team and I were on a cleansing mission when I came to my senses."

"Well, where are they now?" Matthias challenged. "Your friends, I mean. You mentioned they were chasing you?"

Eyes glazed with fear stared back at the old wizard. "They were right on my heels until just a moment ago. They must have gone back to the surface to gather reinforcements. They'll hunt me down, I just know it!"

"Calm down," Bram advised. "Can you take us to them?"

Galiver nodded.

"Then lead the way," Bram suggested. "We'll meet them head-on."

He and Mica ran abreast of the young soldier. Meanwhile, Matthias hung back, his head bent toward Quon. "A word, Master Nan?"

The Kenju Master slowed his pace, far enough behind the others to be out of earshot. "There is something you distrust about this chap, Galiver—am I right?"

The gray wizard spoke in a whisper. "Then I'm not the only one?"

Quon nodded.

Matthias harrumphed. "He didn't even ask us what we're doing down here."

"I noticed that, too," Quon agreed. "However, he is possibly in shock, or just grateful to receive any help at all."

He gazed ahead at Galiver, who was jogging alongside Bram down the old tunnels. The soldier looked over his shoulder at Quon and Matthias, offering them a hopeful smile. But just before the cheerful expression, the young soldier's face seemed to contain something else. If Quon did not know better, he would have guessed disdain.

"Then again … he could be leading us into a trap," the Kenju Master suggested.

"Don't be fooled," Matthias warned. "The whole reason we were captured the first time was because Bram wanted to blaze forward without thinking—and here he goes again! Ever since becoming a Grigori Knight, it's like he's willing to give up on common sense! This young man, Galiver—just because he doesn't have glowing blue eyes, doesn't mean he's not working for the enemy!"

"I agree." Quon tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, feeling the rivets dig into his flesh. "But what do you suggest?"

Matthias paused. "Humph, I think we're in trouble either way."

Quon frowned. "Well, we should at least see where he intends to take us. If we sense danger, we can always spring the trap on him before we reach the destination."

Matthias cackled. "Heh, I like how you think." He motioned to Quon, and both men picked up the pace to catch up with Bram and Galiver.

"I was beginning to lose hope," the young soldier was telling the knight. "It's a blessing from the Goddess that we were able to run into each other!"

"Galiver?" Quon called for the young man's attention. "What were you and your men doing down here, again?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Galiver returned. "We were on a cleansing mission, to keep the waterways safe from spawn."

"I used to do that, too," Quon responded. "However, we typically started early in the morning, when the spawn were more docile."

"That's right. We had started our mission early on, too, and were about to destroy a nest of chiroptera when I came to my senses. But—please forgive me for asking—why so many questions? Don't you believe me?"

Bram stopped his jog and looked at the two men. "Quon, what's this all about?"

"Why are we stopping?" Galiver asked. "My friends are just up ahead!"

"Are you sure about that?" Quon posed. "Earlier, you thought your friends might have returned to the surface to round up reinforcements. Bram … do you not recognize where these tunnels will take us?"

Bram looked around as if trying to identify landmarks to place his location. It was clear when the truth dawned on him, like a hard slap across the face. "Dear Gaia, Quon, you're right! These are the service tunnels that lead us right into the Substratum—"

Before he could finish, Galiver raised his hand and a blast of magical energy blew the knight backward against the side of the tunnel. Mica stood nearby, wide-eyed and disoriented.

Quon drew his short sword, but Galiver lunged quickly, grabbing Mica by the hair amid the confusion. He held his index and middle fingers toward her throat, as they slowly transformed into the blade of a knife. At the same time, his disguise melted away, revealing the smug visage of the king's First Advisor—Virgil Garvey.

Quon stood ready, but he had little chance of crossing the distance in time to stop Virgil from driving the transmuted knife through Mica's throat. Matthias held his staff high. A bright light shone forth as he readied his magic. Bram also recovered, drawing out his own bright silver blade.

"It's remarkable how far you've come, Mister Morrison," Virgil taunted. "Every time I hear of your death, it seems to be exaggerated."

"You son of a bitch!" The knight was livid. "I'll make sure it's the last time you hear anything!"

Virgil smirked, a sparkle of enjoyment in his eyes. "Fortunately for you, I'm here to bargain. But I'll only grant you a moment to decide. If you don't meet my demands, I'll slit her pretty little throat!"

"You'll pay for this!" Bram barked.

"Careful, now," Virgil warned. "Put down the swords and staffs. You, too, wizard!"

Virgil's eyes, framed by his gaunt and jaundiced face, glinted in the light of Matthias' staff. The villain winked. Suddenly, the gray wizard started clawing at his own face, a solid wall of flesh having formed over his mouth.

"Stop!" Bram pleaded. "I'll hear your demands. What do you want?"

Virgil's grin nearly cleaved across his sickly visage. "I want _you_, Mister Morrison. And if you behave, I'll spare the rest of your friends. You have my word."

"Not that it means anything," Bram scoffed. "Just tell me why I'm so important? You already have my brother!"

"Speaking of whom, why not ask him?" Virgil suggested. "We'll put our little … _misunderstandings_ behind us, and tell you the _true_ secret of the sunstones. Don't you want to know? Imagine … an end to all the violence, once and for all! That is my offer, Mister Morrison."

Bram stared back at Virgil, his eyes overflowing with hatred. His free hand clenched into a fist, and his lips pressed tightly together. Even so, he seemed to consider the proposal.

Quon felt he needed to speak up. "Bram, you cannot trust this man."

"Ignore him!" Virgil warned, pressing his sharp-bladed fingertips into Mica's neck. A small trickle of blood rolled down, further besmudging her dull white clerical robes. Her lips trembled. Virgil bared his teeth. "Don't be a fool, Mister Morrison. You only have a moment longer to decide."

The knight's eyes shot wide open, and he reached for the anguished priestess. "_Mica!_"

A bright flash of light erupted. Quon shielded his eyes. A thud. Then, when he was able to see, he found that Mica had collapsed, while Virgil lay sprawled on the other side of the tunnel. Bram's blast had thrust him into the far wall, which now sported a man-sized crater. The damage should have easily killed a normal human being, but Virgil only looked slightly dazed.

Quon ran to help Mica to her feet, while Bram headed straight to Virgil with his sword.

"Let's see how you like having a blade pointed at _your_ throat!" he bellowed, jabbing the tip at Virgil's neck.

Matthias joined him, his mouth fully restored. "So … we finally meet, _Virgil Garvey_." His voice emanated anger. He also addressed Bram. "You were right about him using a unique form of magic. Whenever he casts something, I feel absolutely no presence of white _or_ black magic."

"That's right," Bram affirmed. "Make sure he doesn't reach inside his coat pocket, either. Whatever he has in there, it must be the source of his power."

"I can feel your thoughts, old man," Virgil directed toward Matthias. "You want to kill me, don't you? Vengeance for your daughter?"

Matthias spoke a word of magic, and his fist was surrounded by fire. "Shut your mouth, _filth!_ I won't let you die until you give us some answers!"

Virgil returned Matthias' gaze with a wicked grin.

Quon approached with Mica. The priestess seemed strong enough to stand on her own, so he released his grip.

"Where does your sorcery come from?" she demanded. "How did you manage to wield the powers of the Grigori?"

Virgil laughed. "Sweet innocent girl, why not ask Mister Morrison? He and I get our magic from the same source—"

"Liar!" Bram yelled. "The Oracle would never grant a gift to the likes of you!"

Virgil chortled with delight. Somehow, even with Bram's blade a hair's breadth from opening his exposed throat, the cretin still made light of the situation.

"Enough!" Bram cried, looking like he had lost the last of his patience. "Either you give us some answers, or I'll start spilling your blood!"

Virgil stopped laughing. His hideous eyes burrowed into the knight's, sending shivers up Quon's spine. A change altered Virgil's appearance. Veins invaded the whites of his eyes, turning them into blood-soaked pools. His skin paled, his face even more gaunt. Regions of flesh peeled back to reveal bone underneath. He spoke in a voice that sounded inhuman … demonic, even.

"Better be careful, Abraham, or you'll stain that silver Grigori armor back to _black_, like your brother's! Better luck next time. I promise not to underestimate you again."

As soon as Virgil uttered the words, his body twitched and broke apart in pieces. Quon leapt back in repugnance, as did the others. When the pieces of flesh touched the ground, they transformed into snakes that slithered into small cracks left behind by deteriorating grout along the walls.

Bram cursed loudly, striking the wall with his gauntleted fist. But it was too late. Virgil had escaped.

Mica stepped forward. "Bram, what did he mean?"

"Just more lies," Matthias spat, uttering a few curses. "Next time we meet, I'll make _sure_ Virgil receives justice!"

"But what about his powers?" Quon argued. "We cannot deny that he has a unique kind of magic."

"Just because Matthias and Mica can't feel it, doesn't mean it's the power of the Grigori," Bram reasoned. "Even so, it seems he doesn't need to touch the contents of his pocket after all. Perhaps I'm missing something else …."

"Could it be the power of the Ahrimen?" Mica suggested.

Bram nodded. "Possibly. Virgil has already gathered two other sunstones besides the one in King Richard's possession. But it's strange … I think I would have sensed it, if he had one on him."

Quon considered another matter that no one had addressed. "I believe it is also important to determine why Virgil asked for you, in particular."

"Isn't it obvious?" Matthias responded. "Bram's powers are a threat, and Virgil wants him eliminated."

"I believe it might have to do with different reasons," Quon suggested.

Bram approached the Kenju Master, looking intrigued. "What are you thinking?"

Quon paused to gather his thoughts. "If Virgil wanted you destroyed, he did not need to use Mica as a bargaining tool. But even more convincing are the repeated attempts from Virgil and Samuel to lure you to their side."

"Repeated attempts?" Mica echoed.

Bram's wide eyes suggested that it had suddenly dawned on him. "You're right! My first mission to Minoa … the mission to Ur … and again when Samuel attempted to get me to transport the Koban sunstone. Each time they went out of their way to turn me to their side. This is their fourth attempt!"

Quon nodded. "I do not think these are coincidental. If they could have used anyone else, they would have."

Bram looked dumbfounded. "I hadn't put it all together, not until now. I figured I was only valuable to Virgil as another Gnostic Knight to do his bidding. And when it came to Samuel, I thought he intended to use me out of convenience, or because I was willing to stand against him. But if Quon's right, then all these cases … they're related. Each time, they wanted _me_, in particular."

"Do you have any idea why?" Mica wondered.

Bram shook his head. "Only two things come to mind. My Minoan heritage, and my ability to use Grigori magic. But if these were enough, Samuel could serve in my place."

"Perhaps he needs you both," Matthias suggested. "You were the first to be born with Grigori powers in many centuries, and yet you have a twin. We should assume that Virgil's plan involves both of you."

Bram lowered his head. "You might be right, but now he's gone. We could have learned about his plans, but I let him escape!"

"Do not blame yourself," Quon assured. "Worms never stray too far from the dung heap. We will find him again, and I promise to be there when you do."

"Me, too," Mica asserted with a nod.

Matthias took a deep breath and let it out. "I pledged myself to you that day at The Great Crevasse, and I stand by that oath. Besides, it seems your powers will come to you when you need them—at least that much is clear."

Bram smiled. "Thank you … _all_ of you."

The Grigori Knight pointed down the old stone passages. "King Richard is down there, somewhere. If Virgil collects all four sunstones, he can release the Ahrimen from their prisons. But—if we can recover just one of them, we can prevent the worst-case scenario. I can feel its presence, and I'm confident my powers will lead us to it!"

Quon had a bad feeling. "You mean, by going through Virgil's trap?"

Bram nodded. "He might have set up forces to try to stop us, but we can fight our way through! We can't miss this opportunity. Between the four of us, there's nothing we can't handle!"

Quon took a deep breath. Defeating the Ahriman would not bring back the hundreds of innocent men and women killed due to its influence. But, perhaps avenging these people might finally ease his restless conscience. Quon was ready for his nightmares to end, and to finally return home to his wife.

"Then it is decided," he stated. "For honor and justice, we move forward!"


	88. Chapter 7: Part VI

**.**

* * *

**Part VI**

_Night of Diapente, Twenty-Seventh Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

With the attack plans memorized and Angkor's capital only leagues away, Géorg was ready to open the magical communications window with his king. Because of the extraordinary distance between his airship and the Kitezhian capital, both ends of the exchange had to be connected simultaneously. Lady White had made preparations on her side, but it was up to Géorg to complete his end.

While his chest buzzed with nervous flutters, he drew the circle of magic on the floor and set up the necessary components. He cast the spell from the bridge, which had ample room, and would be the most convenient place to give out commands afterward. He then recited the incantation that Lady White had taught him.

He spoke the words of magic, and they sounded just as strange and foreign as when Lady White had uttered the same syllables. With great relief, the spell seemed to complete correctly on the first attempt. He was rewarded with a segment of light that appeared along the floor of the room, followed by an image that folded upward. Inside the portal was a clear view of King Unruh and his entourage.

"Mister Töller," Lady White called out from across the void, "I must congratulate you on a job well done. I can see and hear you quite clearly. Few novices to this art can cast a spell so complex with the necessary acuity. If I did not know better, I would have thought you had received professional training."

Géorg saw her wink, and he could not help but smile broadly. "Thank you for the commendation, my lady. I am happy to report that we cleared the Zeugma Pass without incident. Our scouts did spot a few Angkorian ships further west, but they have not detected us."

One of King Unruh's generals approached the screen. "Make sure your wizards keep track of them. We will not want a confrontation on the return flight. The area is about to become a wasp's nest!"

"I agree," Unruh echoed from his general's side. "Kitezh owes your forces a debt of gratitude, Mister Töller—and we would all like you to return home safely."

Every fiber of Géorg's being lit up at hearing his king's praise. "I will be sure to follow through, my Lord."

"You are about to embark on an historic event," Unruh proclaimed. "One for which every Kitezhian has long awaited. Many will remember the day when we fought back against our oppressors. Mister Töller … we _will_ win this battle. Though many more will follow, one thing is certain: we will never again be subject to Angkor's tyranny!"

Géorg's nerves were undone by a feeling of glorious anticipation. This was his moment to shine—to confront his enemy on the battlefield. He addressed his king with excitement. "Thank you, Your Majesty. We are approaching our target now. Do you have any further instructions?"

"No, Mister Töller, but leave the communications window open. You may fire when ready."


	89. Chapter 7: Part VII

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* * *

**Part VII**

_After Midnight of Terminus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Cedric spent many tireless hours drafting his design revisions by candlelight. His eyes were bloodshot and his mind was strained. But at last, he had finished. All that remained was to double and triple-check his work, but as far as quality, the design was flawless. Zounds would be his biggest accomplishment, the world's greatest triumph, and a source of incredible pride—if only he had not been forced to turn it over to the enemy.

Saying the achievement was bittersweet would have been a profound understatement. As he had finished the last of his edits the previous night, he thought about a forty-year old bottle of scotch that he had been saving back at his manor. He longed for the potent and sharp bouquet that would waft from the cork, the proper scent to celebrate this occasion.

He almost felt the warm smoky taste on his tongue, smacking his lips, savoring the tingle in the back of his throat. He imagined it with vivid clarity, until a drop of ice-cold moisture fell on his neck. He quickly wiped it away, snapping out of his pleasant reverie, while letting out a long despondent breath. He then turned to massaging his legs, which had grown stiff from all the sitting and dampness.

He would have exercised them more, had his ankles and feet not been replaced with blackened stumps. His eyes welled up whenever he thought of standing on his own without support. He thought back to the days when he used to walk around freely, amazed that he had ever taken it for granted. If only he could feel the refreshing sea breeze on his face, or the gentle warmth of the sun—oh, the joys of freedom!

Alas, amid his daydreams, he felt a sharp object prick the palm of his hand. He recoiled from the pain—annoyed, but also curious how it happened. He realized that he had gripped his straight-edge too tightly, causing a splinter to embed itself deep within his skin. It was not the first time, either. The blasted moisture below the city warped all his instruments. His most crucial tool, ruined! His time, wasted! His life, pitiful! Everything down in this Gaia-forsaken cesspool was shit!

He screamed!

Frustrated, weeping … angry, cursing … boiling, _blown!_ He swiped the instrument—hard—against his desk, splitting it in two. _There!_ Now he would have to ask for another. As if responding to the outburst, Cedric heard the approach of the jailor.

The anger dissipated, replaced with mouth-watering anticipation for the last thing he had to look forward to—the evening meal. He imagined the hunk of beef, slow-smoked by a wood-fire pit. A charred and crispy side, seasoned with salt—his tongue absorbing its exquisite flavor.

He had awaited this experience all day long, wanting to savor every last bite. But tonight, the jailor had kept him waiting. The meal was late, and Cedric had no doubt it was intentional. It was part of a pattern of disrespect that set his blood boiling. With all the broken spirits and straight-edges to deal with, he was _not_ in the mood for more insults.

When the jailor arrived, Cedric's eyes went wide, his hopes instantly dashed at the sight of the dungeon's usual gruel.

"What happened to the meat dish?" he lamented.

The fat oaf rolled his eyes as he murmured a response. "There ain't none tonight."

"Why not?" Cedric pressed, his heart crushed. He desperately but unsuccessfully tried to hide his disappointment. "The agreement was that I'd receive quality food!"

The jailor scrunched his nose mockingly. "Or what? You gonna to cry about it?"

Cedric was already seething. "The _agreement_ was in return for my work," he insisted, the phosphorous in his gut ready to ignite. "I delivered on my end … and I deserve my side of beef! Or should I tear this paperwork to shreds and tell Mister Garvey that _you_ were responsible?"

The jailor scowled, revealing mighty gaps between a few rotted and crooked teeth. "Not that it matters to you, but the Substratum's been put on high alert. They think there's a chance of some kind of attack, but I've never seen it in all my thirty years. Anyways—the kitchen's closed, so you get watered oats!

The jailor swung his flabby arm against the bars of the cell, growling, "Now move aside so I can gives it to ya!"

Cedric swallowed his objections and followed the routine. He leaned over his desk and placed his hands behind his head, interlacing his fingers. When the dullard keyed himself inside, he purposely threw the bowl onto the desk, spilling some of the contents onto Cedric's schematics. The vile man wanted to toy with him, and he knew just how to do it. Cedric wanted to tackle him to the floor, and pummel his face until it resembled the watered oats!

"Ha! How do you like that, _Master_ _Grand Craftsman_?" the idiot jeered. "You think you're better than anyone else, but you ain't nothin'! You're a prisoner, ya dumb dolt! Just a pitiful wretch, with blocks o' shit for feet!"

The jailor bellowed a hearty laugh, but Cedric remained silent, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

"What's that you say?" the jailor continued. "I can't hear you. You want another slab of beef?"

The buffoon took Cedric's head and pressed it firmly to the table. With his other hand, he shoveled the terrible tasting gruel into Cedric's mouth. The humiliation was relentless! Indignity flared, anger burned brightly—a fiery core—hotter than the sun! It rose into Cedric's chest, up his throat—and at last, he belched fire!

The molten fury inside of him erupted, gushing out all at once. The walls bent beneath his wrath. The jailor looked stunned as he glanced up at the ceiling, where silt and detritus drifted through tiny cracks. The dust cloud descended, and the ground rumbled and shook.

Cedric's hatred had manifested—there was no turning back. With his nemesis distracted, he grabbed the pointed fragment of his former straight-edge with his free hand. Movement without thought. Spontaneous fury, anger personified, body out of control! Vengeance in the pilot seat, Conviction driving the hand backward, the splintered end of his straightedge deep into the jailor's face!

As soon as the blood and rage cleared from his vision, he saw what he had done. The jailor lay dead on the floor, the wooden spike of the straight-edge sticking bloodily from his right eye socket.

Cedric felt horrified—_disgusted—but _joyous, too! He looked around the prison cell, wondering what else he could do with his rage. Unfortunately, the battle between fantasy and reality ended—and reality won. The walls still shook and dust still settled, but not because of Cedric's anger. Something else was going on aboveground. Perhaps the Substratum truly was under attack!

Virgil's threat notwithstanding, it would be foolish to stay behind. The entire subterranean structure appeared to be on the verge of collapse! Whatever happened up above, it finally gave Cedric a chance to escape. Even so, he knew it would not be easy. Without his feet, he was left with crawling along the floor on hands and knees. But that suited him just fine, as long as it took him out of this Gaia-forsaken cesspool!

After wiping his bloody hands on the corpse's dirty clothes, he took the candle from his desk and crawled slowly out of his cell.


	90. Chapter 7: Part VIII

**.**

* * *

**Part VIII**

_After Midnight of Terminus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Mica listened carefully as Bram revealed his plan. Everyone knew that an ambush lay somewhere beyond the threshold of the Substratum. Fortunately, Bram was quite familiar with his homeland's battle compound, including every twist and turn that the enemy could exploit for a tactical advantage. All his years as a Gnostic Knight had prepared him for this moment, and Mica sensed the kind of confidence that could only come from a true leader.

Bram started by describing a large basin used by the compound to aggregate water and sewage piping. He believed it to be the most likely location for armed men to lie in wait. Mica's heart fluttered as she prepared herself mentally for her first battle against other human beings.

Although, earlier that day she had already witnessed a man's death. It seemed only moments ago, she had stood in a prison cell—paralyzed with fear—as Angkorian soldiers under Abaddon's spell prepared to execute her.

She could do nothing, frozen, like a lamb up for slaughter! Had it not been for Matthias, she would have easily been killed. She closed her eyes, unable to watch, as the gray wizard's magic impaled the soldiers on their own swords. But even without her sight, she had heard the steel blades slice through muscles and organs.

As a child, she had once witnessed a calf being butchered, an experience that sickened her at the time. Not just the sight of blood, but the look in the creature's eyes as its life was taken. Ironically, her first human death since her days as an orphan of war came with nothing but relief as she thanked Gaia for her safety!

Of course, she never remembered her terrible experiences as a child. They were most likely repressed in some secluded corner of her mind. However, the deaths of the two Angkorian soldiers remained so vivid. It felt sinful and wicked to think of them so lightly. This was especially true, given her devotion as a Gaian priestess whose very creed was to regard life so highly!

She knew the Goddess understood killing as a means of self-defense, but Mica also recalled what Quon had told her about his own experience under Abaddon's magic. If these soldiers watched the world through conscious eyes, then they too must have grieved for every man and woman they slaughtered. In a way, killing these men stood in a terrifying gray zone between self-defense and unjustified murder. She prayed for the Goddess to show her another way.

She sprang to focus when Bram directed his attention toward her, providing the details of her role in the upcoming battle. He told her that while he and Quon would form an offensive front, she would follow behind using healing and protective magic. Meanwhile, Matthias would guard her flank and cast offensive spells from behind.

"Just be sure to use non-lethal magic whenever possible," Bram instructed the gray wizard. "These men are being controlled by compulsion, and may not be complicit in their actions."

"I'll see what I can do," Matthias answered, "but this is war, and I won't hold back when it comes to defending my life—whether or not the attackers are innocent."

Bram looked like he sympathized, but he was no less firm. "I understand how you feel, my friend. I used to take lives in the name of battle, too. But these men can't control their own bodies. In their own minds, they might be scared, or remorseful."

Mica's heart leapt at hearing Bram's peaceful intentions. She wondered what else she could do to help him avoid bloodshed. "Bram, I may know of a way to do more."

The knight looked intrigued. "What were you thinking, Mica?"

"It is merely a hypothesis based on my training, but I think I can devise a spell that would cause your sword to pass through flesh and render the body asleep without killing it."

Matthias frowned. "This is not the right time to be testing new magic," he scolded.

"No, she's right," Bram rebutted. "If there's a way to do this peacefully, we have to try. Don't forget that some of these men might even be Quon's Kenju Warriors, so we should employ discretion wherever possible."

Quon stepped forward, his head bowed. "Thank you, Bram." He turned to Mica, "Please … enchant my short sword as well."

She nodded, all too happy to help. These men were true heroes—not only willing to stand up and risk their lives to protect the world from the Ahrimen, but also willing to uphold the peaceful will of Gaia in the process! She only hoped they would be successful in reaching King Richard before it was too late.

"Everyone prepared?" Bram asked.

Everyone nodded.

Bram nodded his head firmly. "Good. Now then, let's get into formation."

Mica took her place, her stomach queasy and chest full of jitters. She took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind and open her body to her magic. The sweet scent, the humble hum, the gentle caress—it filled her heart with bliss and determination. It was now or never!

She began her initial enchantments. Besides making the weapons non-lethal, she cast charms upon Bram and Quon to increase their stamina and agility. Next, she coated their skin with a flame and electrical retardant, in case they encountered enemy wizards. Lastly, she cast a shield in front to deflect against ranged projectiles. As long as none of the men wandered too far from the shield, they would be protected from bolts or arrows.

The enchantments would only last a few minutes, so no one wanted to waste any time. They marched forward, through the tunnel connecting the waterways with the Substratum. As Bram predicted, Angkor's sentry guards were waiting for them inside a wide open basin. Dozens of pipes ran along the sides of the room, connecting infrastructure to all the levels of the compound, but a wide empty area in the middle was stacked with enemy forces.

An initial wave of swordsmen rushed toward them. The edge of Bram's Grigori sword turned white from Mica's magic. As he cut down the enemy, the blade grazed the skin and made no wound. Instead, the soldiers dropped to the ground, deep in slumber. Quon's sword also turned white, and Mica was pleased to see the Kenju Master was quite adept at using it. He soared through the air like a graceful acrobat, taking on several opponents at once.

A second wave rushed in, aided by bowmen in the back of the basin. Mica's shield deflected their attacks, while Matthias sent paralyzing black magic streaming in their direction. As Bram and Quon finished off the swordsmen, the bowmen behind them sunk slowly to the floor in a peaceful but temporary coma.

One of the swordsmen snuck past Bram's left, heading straight for Mica with his sword. The priestess shrieked! Fortunately, Quon intervened. He rebutted the man's attack while delivering a second blow that knocked the swordsman unconscious. However, a second assailant snuck up from behind. The Kenju Master spun around, only to receive a vicious jab in the head by a gauntleted arm. Quon flailed backward, but Bram stepped in.

Before the attacker had a chance to rebound, the knight plunged his sword through the soldier's unprotected flank. Mica's enchantment allowed the blade to pass harmlessly through the man's body while he joined his comrades in deep slumber. Meanwhile, Matthias diverted his attention from the bowmen to heal Quon's concussion.

Warm adrenaline rushed through Mica's veins, and she began recasting her previous enchantments. She was overjoyed that her magic helped to prevent more bloodshed, but her euphoria soon faded when several of the fallen warriors started to rise and reenter the battle. Her skin broke out in prickled flesh, causing her to fumble the words of her spell.

"Matthias!" Bram shouted, "Wizards to your left!"

Mica turned as well, noticing the source of the new magic. Several whites had entered from the rear of the basin, protected behind a line of pikemen. Their magic was responsible for awakening the fallen swordsmen, putting another block of units between Matthias and his intended target. To make matters worse, a number of black wizards had also staked a position at the far end of the room, preparing spells of fire and ice. Mica knew that Matthias would not be able to target both at once.

The priestess summoned her courage and created a spectral force that knocked the pikemen off their feet. With the white wizards exposed, the gray wizard was able to cast an anti-magic field to block their spells. Bram and Quon quickly took advantage of the confused troops, rushing forward with their enchanted weapons.

Just in time, Matthias cast a gale-force wind to interrupt the fire and ice being cast by the black wizards. Their streams of magic swerved into nearby pipes. Water burst into the room, gushing into the faces of the swordsmen, distracting them long enough for Bram and Quon to disable them. Finally, Matthias cast a second wave of paralysis at the black wizards. They soon joined their brethren on the ground.

Mica was impressed that Matthias could be so quick with his spell-casting. The Oracle had indeed granted him some great gifts. More would soon be needed, as a double-sized wave of soldiers equipped with swords and spears entered the fray. Bram and Quon doubled back to face them. The knight moved swiftly, flowing in between the sharpened metal instruments like a raging river. Meanwhile, Quon's fast movements and rapid thrusts reminded Mica of a flickering flame. The master warriors cut through the new wave of soldiers, and Mica made sure her enchantments remained in effect. She felt another surge of excitement as the enemy dwindled in number.

That was until a section of four Templars entered the battle. Her breath caught, knowing these units were stronger and better trained—the most fearsome so far. They seemed to have a magical enchantment that made them impervious to Matthias' paralysis magic, but the gray wizard was undeterred. Instead, fumes of noxious gas flew from his fingertips. The Templars held their breath while Bram and Quon kept them from reaching Mica and Matthias, each warrior parrying against two of the elite soldiers at once.

The Templars' blows were fast, but Bram and Quon defended them masterfully. Even so, the two warriors looked fatigued, and Mica felt herself fumbling once again for her magic. Even the most experienced spell-casters had their limits, but she forced her mind to focus on the arcane words. Fortunately, the Templars were slowing down. They could no longer hold their breath, and when their lungs must have been crying out, they gulped in Matthias' noxious fumes. It quickly sent them, choking, to the ground.

Mica leaned against the side of the basin, drawing deep breaths of air as she scanned the room. The enemy lay in heaps. Through everyone's combined efforts, the battle ended without a single casualty.

She wiped the sweat from her brow. All the enchantments had made her weak, leaving her lightheaded. "Is that it?" she asked. "I cannot … take much more."

Bram was also short of breath, but he praised the priestess nonetheless. "You did wonderfully! Is anybody hurt?"

Matthias and Mica shook their heads, but Quon was already with the fallen soldiers, removing helmets in search of his Kenju Warriors.

"We cannot leave until I determine if any of my comrades are among these men," he stated.

"Allow me," Matthias offered. He cast a spell that revealed the faces of each soldier from behind their helmets. Sure enough, the Kenju Master pointed out five soldiers who were among his former kinsmen. Bram and Mica helped to remove their helms and separate these men from the others.

"Whatever you plan to do, Bram, I hope you do it quickly," Matthias urged. "We need to get as far away from here as possible before the rest of these soldiers wake up."

"I know, Matthias," Bram responded impatiently, "but you need to give me time to figure out how to replicate what I did back at the Judiciary Center."

The gray wizard glared at the Grigori Knight. "You mean you don't know! Are you telling me we've come all this way on a hunch?"

Mica started to worry about the wizard's constantly flaring temper. He had a lot to learn about tact, and Bram's angry look suggested that even a Grigori could run out of patience.

"Did you hear that?" Quon broke in.

Everyone stopped talking for a moment and listened. Mica heard a dull vibration in the distance.

"What was that?" she asked.

Bram held out his hand, signaling urgently for everyone to stop what he or she was doing. "Hold on!"

Mica listened a bit longer. A faint rumbling joined the vibration.

"Some sort of quake?" Quon suggested.

As soon as he said it, a crash erupted from above, and the basin shook. Ancient grout between bricks cracked, and the walls buckled. A plume of dust descended from the ceiling.

"It's some kind of bomb on the surface," Matthias reported. His eyes were closed, and Mica sensed he was using his magic. "No—multiple bombs! The city's under attack! We have to get out of here before this entire underground compound collapses!"

"Bram, please," Quon begged. "Try once more to remove the compulsion spell. I cannot leave my men behind to die!"

Bram closed his eyes, baring his teeth in frustration. He squinted tightly and his brows furrowed. Another explosion rang out, and a pipe burst directly overhead. Bram's hand shot upward, as if he were reaching out to catch the heavy metal piping, and out came a bright flash of light. The room was awash in white. Mica blinked a few times, and by the time she could see again, she was astounded!

The metal pipe hovered in mid-air, its liquid contents slowly trickling in all directions. It was as if time had slowed to a crawl. With a dumbfounded expression, Bram looked up at what he had unleashed. Though his powers had managed to conjure a serendipitous effect, he seemed to have no conscious way to control it. Fortunately, the spell also had the desired reaction of waking the Kenju Warriors. They started to stir, shaking their heads, looking disoriented.

Quon ran to their sides, asking them if they were free from the magic spell.

"Master Nan, forgive us," one of them pleaded.

Quon almost melted with relief, but he quickly sprang to attention, no doubt remembering his role as Kenju Master. He spoke to his men firmly. "No one here is responsible for their actions. I wish I could explain more fully, but we must leave this place immediately! Where is King Richard?"

The Kenju looked at one another, wearing confused expressions. "I do not think anyone knows," one of them responded. "We were stationed here for several hours, and have not seen him since."

Mica's heart sank. They had come all this way to find the sunstone, but they might need to leave empty-handed. Otherwise, if they did not reach the surface soon, they would all be buried alive. And yet—if they missed their chance, would they ever have another? Would Virgil and Samuel succeed in gathering all four and release the Ahrimen into the world?

"I know where he is," Bram announced, his voice certain and authoritative. "As soon as I caused that flash of light, I felt the sunstone's location. It's further down … in the depths of the Substratum. Richard is using it as we speak."

"Hold on," Matthias objected. "I hate always being the negative one, but what good is the sunstone to us if we're all dead? The explosions on the surface are going to weaken the integrity of these tunnels, sooner or later. Why not just let Richard get buried down here, along with the sunstone?"

Bram shook his head. "That won't be the end of it—I'm certain. You've all seen what Virgil is capable of! He wants the sunstone badly enough, so he'll find a way to get it—even if it's buried under a thousand spans of rubble."

Matthias looked to the others, as if expecting them to support him, but Mica had no such intention. She sided with Bram. Their only chance was to move forward, and from the resolute faces of Quon and his Kenju, she suspected that they felt the same way. It was _not_ the time to turn back!

"There's just one more thing I must do," Bram concluded. "I intend to free the rest of these soldiers from Abaddon's curse."

Matthias shook his head in disbelief. "Bram, be sensible! These men were our enemy, even before the Ahriman put its curse on them. We can't have them attacking our flank while we descend deeper into the Substratum!"

"They won't," Bram insisted. "Just like Quon, these men have been forced into heinous conditions. They certainly won't chase us further into the Substratum if the place is on the verge of collapse."

"But if you're wrong—"

"I'm not," the knight was firm. "Besides, I know what to do now."

Matthias let out a deep sigh, finally ready to acquiesce. "Go ahead," he gestured toward the heaps of sleeping soldiers and wizards. "What do I know, anyways?"

Mica smiled. Bram had once been a broken man who lost everything. She knew from his past that he had committed scores of crimes against humanity, but now he was a completely different person. The New Bram was brimming with compassion, love, and the spirit of Gaia. If he was even willing to stand up for his own enemy, then he must truly be the savior that Mica and her people had been awaiting. She forced back her tears.

Bram closed his eyes, looking much more relaxed than the last time. His face was peaceful, focused. He extended his arms, and the bright flash of light shined from his fingertips. Shortly after, the soldiers began to stir.

"We can leave," the knight instructed in a soft tone. His voice was commanding, even assuring. "They won't follow us."

Matthias followed closely behind, though he looked over his shoulder repeatedly, as if checking to see whether any the soldiers would follow them. Mica joined Quon and his Kenju, in search of any wounds. Soon after, she joined the march, far more comfortable than she had been in the beginning. They were going to succeed in finding the sunstone, and things were going to be all right.


	91. Chapter 7: Part IX

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* * *

**Part IX**

_After Midnight of Terminus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Over the course of several days, Józef had been planning his escape. His captors held him in a reasonably furnished cabin with good food, but he had no misgivings about what would happen if his homeland failed to produce his ransom in a timely fashion. He wanted to believe that his people would come through for him, really he did. But, after being let down by his own countrymen—who mutinied against him, killed his retainers, and dumped their bodies into the ocean—he no longer trusted his fate to others.

In fact, he had every reason to suspect Heinz Unruh had orchestrated his original kidnapping. Although he had no way to prove it, he knew Unruh was ambitious—a man who had long vied for the position of Primary Minister, Konrad Rommel's current position, and one which would have given Unruh power second only to the king. Józef wondered how long his former Minister of Security had plotted behind his father's back, and how far he would truly be willing to go.

Józef sighed. He realized he had been far too naïve for far too long. Traveling to Koba and defending Tiahuanaco should have helped him to strengthen and mature—to become a true leader—but instead he kept on making the same mistakes. He surely had a long way to go before he could rule effectively as king.

Instead of daydreaming and goofing off during his lessons as a child, he should have been paying attention. He was always spoiled and given what he wanted, when he wanted it. Had he only been more responsible back then, he would have been better prepared now. He felt that—at any moment, without warning—his captors might decide to kill him. His eternal hope that things would simply work out by themselves was nothing more than daft naïveté. So in desperation, he cast his foolishness aside and prepared for something drastic.

Around his finger he wore the signet ring of the Kitezhian royal family—the same ring that he had used to bargain for his life. Had he not shown it to the pirates, they would have shot him in the chest along with his previous captors.

However, the ring also hid something that even the pirates did not know about. Inside lay a compartment filled with a particular kind of powder, a tasteless and odorless substance that ranked among the world's deadliest toxins. A few grains would kill a man in seconds through painful asphyxiation. It was a last resort, given to Józef by his father. He had always thought it a playful little secret—a pretend master assassin, slinking between the ornate chambers of his palatial home to take down imaginary shadows. Never did he think that he would actually use it—not until now.

Every so often, the ship would dock at an anonymous landmass. The northern tundra had many of these ice banks. During this time, the majority of pirates would disembark. Józef watched them leave from a porthole in his cabin, calculating that it would leave the ship only lightly guarded. Once, during the night, one of the remaining pirates stationed at his door would deliver his meal. Józef waited for the drop-off with the compartment of his ring slightly ajar.

As usual, a heavily tattooed man brought in a plate filled with pan-fried cod and root vegetables. Before the man had a chance to leave, Józef grabbed a piece of the fish and flicked his wrist over the remainder on the plate.

"You call this food?" he asked disgustedly, twisting the fish in his hand as if it were a piece of rotten meat.

"What are ye talking about?" the pirate thundered, his face contorted in anger over the blatant disrespect.

Józef took a bite of the uncontaminated piece and spit it on the floor. "It is tasteless and dry, and there are bones in it!" He tried to sound both spoiled and indignant.

"Ye little brat!" the pirate spewed. "Ye be among the best treated guests we've ever had!"

"Guest? Ha! I am a prisoner, you simpleton. My father is king of Kitezh, and as soon as his fleet gets here, he'll rescue me." This far out at sea, Józef hoped the news of his father's death had not yet reached the pirate crew.

The tattooed man backhanded Józef so hard it sent him tumbling. As intended, thought the young prince, though the slap had been harsher than he had expected. The plate fell to the floor, too, but the man picked it up and examined it. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he bit off a piece of the fish. "We'll see how ye feel after I eat yer next few meals."

The pirate turned his back, ready to march back to his post and leave Józef hungry and bruised. But he took no more than a few steps before his knees buckled and he sunk to the floor, his hands clutching at his throat. He would live a few moments more in unimaginable agony, but with no voice to call for help.

Józef stood over him a few moments rubbing his jaw before kicking the man hard in the gut. "I hope you enjoy your shitty food!"

He was initially very excited to have executed his plan successfully, but over the course of several moments, the euphoria faded. He looked down to the now still corpse, and a sudden wave of regret washed over him. He had killed another man for the first time … taken a life through his own actions.

A cold sweat oozed through his pores, and his knees felt weak. The sight of a brown frothy substance coming from the pirate's open mouth suddenly made him sick. He turned to the side and vomited, wishing he could take everything back. Of course, such a wish sounded incredibly foolish—even to him.

He quickly wiped the bile from his chin and started collected his things. His mind was in a fog, but fear beckoning from the brink of consciousness. He had made it past the guard, but his escape was far from complete. He grabbed some blankets, heavy clothes, and a jug of clean water before sneaking his way onto the deck. Tears pooled in his eyes, and he cursed himself for being so weak. Fortunately, the deck was empty—no pirates in sight. Hopefully, they had underestimated him.

Józef took a deep breath to clear his thoughts as he lifted his things into one of the ship's lifeboats. He cheeks felt flushed, but it was too late to turn back. He was committed, now. Using a knife he had taken from his dead captor, he severed the restraints to the lifeboat and lowered it quietly into the water.

He held his breath as he climbed down, fearful of making a noise and hoping he had not missed anything. Once he had the oars in hand, he exhaled, feeling a bit of energy and optimism return. He rowed … into the wide open ocean. Gentle waves carried him out. He looked over his shoulder as the ship slowly disappeared from view, hopeful that no one saw him leave.

He was finally on his own, though far from the nearest land or friendly establishment. If he was lucky, he would find a friendly merchant or fisherman to take him back home. If not, almost infinite amounts of cold and loneliness awaited.


	92. Chapter 7: Part X

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* * *

**Part X**

_Before Daybreak of Terminus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Bram felt the sunstone's presence. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced—euphoria wrapped in anxiety, skin tingling even as his chest clenched. Like dreaming of Rosa's warm embrace, only to wake up and realize she was no longer there. And just as with the allure of a lover's hold, Bram was drawn deeper into the Substratum.

He led his friends down the central stairwell, amid echoes of explosions from the surface. The underground infrastructure rattled. Clouds of dust drifted from the ceiling. The sense of urgency to reach his destination had never been greater … nor had the imminent fear of reaching it.

At the very bottom, right beside the tunnel leading to the hangar, the gaping maw of a newly-formed passage beckoned further into the bedrock. It bored into mineral-rich strata with smooth mirror-like edges, almost as if melted by the core of a caldera. An incomprehensible force had rippled through, far more than the original builders were ever capable of forging. Inside, Bram shivered. The sunstone was near, radiating pure power and might.

Bram's friends followed his footfalls, boots clomping, reverberating off the stone, leading ever downward. Eventually, the passage opened into a colossal cavern—larger than the central square of the capital directly above them. At the back of the cavern, a man awaited in robes so tattered and soiled they could have been mistaken for beggar's rags. Richard Cromwell turned from his work bearing a menacing grin. Whether the man's sanity still existed in any form, Bram did not know.

"So," the knight called out to his former liege, "it's come to this."

"You dare face me, Abraham?" Richard bellowed. "You're a disgrace—a cur who's turned on its master!"

Bram stepped forward, his tone firm but level. "I might have once served this kingdom as a faithful hound … but no more. I've come to reclaim that which you've unjustly taken."

Richard laughed. His face was drenched, sallow and drawn. Bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, creating a ghoulish visage. "Are you daft? You speak down to the mightiest king in all the world—with powers capable of destroying you with a mere thought!"

"No," Bram assured. "You have no power, save for what Abaddon has granted you. I plead with you, Richard … you must realize this demon has been using you all along!"

The king scowled as he pulled the Pisces Stone from beneath his robes. He pointed it to the back of the cavern. Purple bolts of electrical energy struck the nearby wall, leaving a mighty gouge. Torrents of rock and silicon splinters splayed across the cavern, a cloud of razors that sent Mica and the others reeling. But Bram stood his ground, steadfast and confident. Before the fragments hit anyone, Richard raised his hand. The pieces fell harmlessly to the ground.

"You see that?" Richard challenged, gesturing wildly with his free hand at the newly opened cleft. "Did Abaddon blast that crater, or did I? You think a demon would have spared you from harm? Or can you see now that its power is _mine_ to control?"

Bram finally understood the extent of the Ahriman's lies. Richard would not be convinced by traditional reasoning. Bram would need to confront his liege on an entirely different level. "What are you doing down here, Richard?"

The mad king cackled, screeching like the strings of a violin played the wrong way. "Years ago, I commanded my black wizards to extend the Substratum to another level … but they told me the infrastructure wouldn't support it. They said the amount of magic would be too great—that no one had the power. And yet … here I am. With the sunstone's power, I have done it _all by_ _myself!_"

Bram crossed his arms, his jaw squared as he faced the powerful ruler of Angkor with confidence. "I can see that. Indeed, the power of the Ahrimen is enough to blast through rock and bore tunnels like no other magic on Gaia. They can even control men's minds and make an entire fleet of airships invisible. But … their greatest power of all is in their ability to create a lie so convincing and elaborate that it makes a man forget who he is. They can make such a man believe that he is in control of his own actions, when in truth, he's already surrendered everything he 'is' or 'was' to _them_."

"What are you blathering about?" Richard demanded, his mouth contorted in a furious scowl, his teeth black and rotted from neglect. "I'll not be led astray by riddles!"

"I'll ask again," Bram repeated, his voice escalating. "What are you doing down here?"

"Don't test me, Abraham! I don't have to answer to you! I am _king_ of the mightiest and most powerful nation in the world! Who are _you_ to question my authority?"

Bram simply smiled. "You call yourself king? Down here—wallowing in the filthy bowls of your city's infrastructure while your enemy attacks from above? Look around you, Richard! They're bombing us as we speak!"

The so-called King of Angkor looked up at the shuddering walls and sprinkles of dust that landed atop his head, as if noticing it all for the first time. An inkling of realization dawned, and his eyes slowly glazed over in fear.

"Can't you see what's happened?" Bram pressed. "Don't you realize that Abaddon's powers have robbed you of the most basic of senses? You must believe me that using the sunstone—even a single moment longer—will lead to your utter destruction! You must give it up before it's too—"

"Never!" Richard thundered. "I've already gained more power than you can ever dream! I'll rebuild this city, and destroy the empires of my enemies. I only need … to draw … more … _power!_"

Bram shielded his eyes against a bright blue light that emanated from the sunstone. His hands—covered as they were with silver-plated gauntlets—were no match for the blinding beams that pierced right through with their divine might. "Richard, stop!" he pleaded. "Stop now, or there's no turning back—"

But it was too late. Abaddon was all too willing to grant Richard the power he wanted, as long as he surrendered himself completely. Bram felt the sacrifice as soon as it was made ….

The chamber shook with a new kind of force. Bram heard a voice that no mortal was ever meant to hear. It slithered down his spine, punctured his heart, and infected his very soul, chilling him with icy fear and despair.

"FREE AT LAST," the voice boomed with the sound of boulders slowly being crushed together. "THIS WORLD WILL FINALLY BE RECLAIMED … _BY THE CHAOS!_"

Bram tried to force the voice from his head. Like endless bugs skittering along the surface of his skull. He watched as Richard's body grew and transformed, as Abaddon revealed his true form.

Bram immediately wished he could erase the morbid sight from his mind. The king's skin twisted and bulged. His head split in two, and from either side of the red flesh sprouted sharp fangs. The body stretched and inflated until it filled a large portion of the cavern, towering over Bram and his friends.

The resulting amalgamation was the bastard offspring of various aquatic species. It had the body of a toad, the arms of a crab, the tail of a salamander, and the face of a shark. Even as it moved, it continued to evolve and change shape. Its body elongated, like a serpent, then returned to something round while a conch-like shell formed around it. Gills opened up along its neck, then closed again as the great horn of a narwhal grew from its head. It was the very essence of chaos.

Bram and his companions backed against the wall, unsure of how to fight this monstrosity. Seeing its enemy cornered, Abaddon changed its claws into a pair of pectoral fins and beat them against the walls of the cavern. A barrage of rock and dirt rained down, but Matthias stepped forward and diverted the debris with his magic.

Quon directed his Kenju to circle around and approach the beast from its flank. With their experienced acrobatics, they evaded a number of newly formed pincers, which snipped at their nearest victim. With the Ahriman distracted, Bram ran forward to attack the front.

He struck with his Grigori blade against the creature's face, but it slid across as if he had challenged a solid steel plate. The face lashed back with razor-sharp teeth that were more daggers than bone. Bram jumped backward in time to avoid being bitten. The other Kenju attacked the rear, but their swords were just as useless.

Matthias directed his fiercest spells at the beast's joints, alternating between fire and ice. Abaddon twitched about, snapping his claws in all directions. Unfortunately, the gray wizard's magic had no effect.

Bram cringed as one of the Kenju Warriors wandered too close and Abaddon's pincers cleaved him in two. The man's torso rolled across the ground, spraying crimson in all directions. Bram screamed, lit aflame with passion. He held out his hand and a bright flash engulfed the cavern in pure white light. When he opened his eyes, it was to the strange sensation of familiar events in the course of replaying. Somehow, he had rewound the hands of time, but only for a few seconds. If he acted quickly enough ….

Without fully comprehending his next move, he dove forward, swinging his sword against the same pair of sharp pincers. His attack intervened just before they chomped down. The Kenju dodged the attack and gave Bram a slight nod to communicate that he was all right.

Abaddon howled, driving his massive body forward in an attempt to trample the knight. Bram felt himself leave the ground, realizing that Mica used one of her own spells to move him out of the way—just in time!

As he landed out of harm's way, he heard the creature suck in a deep breath. A chill crept up his spine as he saw Abaddon bellow curling blue smoke.

"Don't breathe in!" Quon shouted. "It will take over your mind!"

Matthias cast a spell that blew the gas to the other side of the cavern, holding it there with his powers until it dissipated. At the same time, Bram felt a rush of energy as Mica cast a new set of enchantments over the group. He felt alert, more energized, but still no closer to defeating this monster.

The Ahriman's hideous face looked outraged, and Bram suspected it was about to change tactics. Its body shook, and two new serpent-like heads emerged from its body, each with sharp fangs and boarish snouts. The central head had a nightmarish resemblance to the former king, except for two walrus-like tusks jutting from its jaw. Crab-like legs grew from the base of the shell, giving the creature better mobility.

Bram scanned the monstrosity, desperate to find a weak point. A series of close calls had kept him and the others alive, but their fortune would not last forever. At last, he noticed something embedded at the top of the monster's shell.

"The sunstone!" he cried, pointing to its location.

The heads spit streams of acid onto the ground, dissolving the bedrock and sending out noxious fumes. Once again, Matthias summoned his magic to clear the air.

Meanwhile, Quon shouted a series of commands to his men. "Kenju! Battle form, Lóutī!" He waved to get the gray wizard's attention. "Quick, lift me!"

Quon's men stood shoulder to shoulder, some of them bending over to form a kind of staircase. Quon backed up against the wall. With a running start, he leapt onto their backs, gaining height with each jump. When he reached the palms of the taller men, he bounded upward, gliding gracefully through the air as Matthias' magic lifted him to the top of Abaddon's massive shell. Once he had a handhold, his knife adroitly freed the sunstone.

"Bram, catch!" he shouted before throwing it.

The Ahriman screamed in rage, twisting and flailing in an attempt to throw the Kenju Master off its back. Quon went flying across the cavern, but fortunately Mica cast a spell that turned the stone wall into mud at the area of impact. It eased the shock considerably, but the Kenju Master still looked stunned.

Bram was ready. He had caught the sunstone while Abaddon was distracted. Closing his eyes, he let his feelings be his guide. He held the sunstone in front of him, wishing for Abaddon to be trapped inside.

He was nearly blown backward as a mighty force rippled out of the sunstone, knocking everyone else off of their feet. Bram knelt down to brace himself, but he kept the sunstone pointed toward its target. Bright flickering lights and high-pitched sounds filled the chamber with a dazzling but dizzying effect. The walls buckled, and more boulders tumbled from the ceiling.

Abaddon backed against the opposite wall and drove its claws into the rock. Yet as the beast struggled, an unseen force drew it toward the sunstone. It planted its crab-like legs into the ground, intent on fighting against the force that grew in strength with each passing moment. The strobe of lights danced faster, and the sounds beat more intensely, in an anarchic display that disoriented the senses. Bram averted his eyes while wishing he had something to protect his ears from the deafening sounds.

From his side, he saw Matthias try to say something, but the wizard's voice was lost in a stormy sea of sensory chaos. Bram returned his focus to the Ahriman, watching the creature struggle and twist against the increasingly powerful pull. The force was so great that it wrenched pieces of rock from the walls where Abaddon had dug in its claws.

The Ahriman gave one final effort, shrieking in fury, until at last its grip failed. The force of the sunstone was greater than even its immortal powers. The hideous beast flew through the cavern, straight at Bram. Abaddon bellowed words of fury and frustration so formidable they seemed to bend the stone walls of the cavern. Any other man would have gone insane just hearing them.

As the Ahriman traveled toward the sunstone, its body shrunk. Bram clenched his teeth, preparing himself for the massive weight and size of the flailing monster. Yet, by the time it reached the sunstone, the creature had shrunk so small it was gone from view. The ancient artifact gave a final pulse of magical energy, then dimmed to its clear dormant state.

Bram blinked to adjust his eyes to the now darkened interior. Everyone else looked around in confusion, a cautious but delightful smile growing on each person's face. But before they could celebrate, the room trembled, and rubble fell from above. A large piece of the ceiling crashed onto the floor, narrowly avoiding some of the Kenju Warriors. Mica dashed to the side, just in time to save her own life.

"The Substratum is falling apart!" Bram yelled. "We must get out before the whole place collapses!"

The heroes ran out of the cavern. Bram could only hope they had enough time to find their way to safety.


	93. Chapter 7: Part XI

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* * *

**Part XI**

_Before Daybreak of Terminus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

Situated in his new citadel, the flying fortress known as Zounds, Samuel Cortez watched the austere buildings of Angkor's capital crumble under a cloud of ash and mortar. He grinned in amusement as he sat in a large room with walls made of reinforced aluminum. It was empty, except for a large chair and a pool in the center.

He used the pool for scrying, powered by a technique of the Sagittarius Stone known as Belial's Eye. The stone's awesome power shot crackling arcs of energy across the room, as bright and furious as a lightning storm. An image shimmered in the pool, shadows and outlines forming from the ripples. A bolt thundered overhead, and soon, there appeared a window into the world of his choosing. The pool now contained the power to view any event that had happened in the past several days, anywhere on Gaia.

Samuel laid back in his chair, eager to embrace the knowledge and opportunities that such visions would grant him. Of course, he needed to respect and meter his use of these powers. The life-force of the Ahriman coursed through his veins as he directed the magic, a power that would eventually turn on him and try to corrupt him. However, Samuel believed he had sufficient knowledge to keep Belial of the Condemned Flame at bay. And, with Zounds now operational, he would soon have his moonstone, at which point the Ahriman would become a mere puppet under his command.

By this time, Angkor's destruction had captured his attention long enough. His interest shifted to another vision—his brother vanquishing a very powerful ally. Abaddon of the Wroth Sea was one of the strongest entities the world had ever known. Yet by some miracle, Abraham had survived the encounter and defeated the Ahriman.

All was not lost, however. Abraham might have trapped the Ahriman inside the Pisces Stone, but Samuel planned to use that to his advantage. For sure, his brother had grown in strength considerably, also managing to thwart Virgil Garvey—a vision that Samuel found quite gratifying. He would ensure that Virgil knew the same shame of defeat that he had been forced to endure with his demotion.

As he reveled over Virgil's impending embarrassment, one of his white wizards entered the scrying room and whispered into his ear. A pleasant coincidence … the so-called First Advisor had actually arrived. Not that the title mattered anymore. Abaddon had fully consumed Richard Cromwell, and not a shred of the foolish king's body or soul remained.

Samuel halted his magic and returned the sunstone to its dormant state. He did not want Virgil to know he had been using it. It took only a moment for his associate to burst through the doors and launch into a series of grievances. Evidently, he had a lot to say regarding his encounter with Abraham. Samuel listened, pleasantly entertained by the sweet words of Virgil's diatribe, honeyed by the images he had already witnessed from his scrying pool.

"So, it appears my brother has now bested us both," Samuel concluded, hardly able to contain his amusement. "I told you not to underestimate him."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "So now what? Have you heard back yet from Libicocco regarding the Capricorn Stone? She should have it by now."

Virgil referred to the Ahriman who had inhabited the Gemini Stone, the one originally located in Kitezh. The former First Advisor had proposed giving the stone to Arcesilaus, king of the Elflands, with the oh-so-original idea of corrupting him in the same fashion as King Richard. The Elflands was a nation that bordered Vineta, home of the final sunstone. Known as the Capricorn Stone, it was the prison to Lord Zagan, the most fearsome of the four Ahrimen.

Vineta's eight clerics guarded that sunstone. Their wards, bolstered by their location deep within the Vinetan forests, made it impractical to take the Capricorn Stone by brute force. Any attempt, and these savvy wizards would have taken the sunstone into the woodlands and disappeared for months, making them nearly impossible to track. However, the Elflands and Vineta were friendly neighbors, and Virgil's proposal suggested that Arcesilaus take it right from under the clerics' noses. He had argued that they would never suspect the Elfen king of any wrongful deeds, and would therefore be caught off guard.

Of course, Samuel had disliked the idea from the beginning. It was complex with too many loose ends, any one of which could unravel the whole plan. However, he had supported his counterpart in order to watch him fail. Virgil's humiliation would restore Samuel to the prominent position at his Master's right hand. So far, his scheme seemed to be working out marvelously.

"We have spoken over long distance communication," Samuel explained. "She obtained the Capricorn Stone successfully, but I'm afraid there's bad news. She would not elaborate, and instead informed me that she does not intend to return. Clearly, she's betrayed us, and now her own sunstone as well as the Capricorn Stone are both in her possession."

A pallor fell over Virgil's face, and his jaw dropped. "Wh—what did she say?" he asked in a shaky voice. "She was supposed to obey our beck and call—"

"Your plan was destined to fail from the start."

Virgil seemed to regain his composure in an instant, perhaps buttressed by his oversized ego. His eyes narrowed. "This was _your_ doing, wasn't it?"

Samuel pounded his fist into the arm of his chair, sending an audible thud across the room. "This is _not_ the time to bicker! If you prefer, we can contact the Master and inform him of your incompetence. If not, then perhaps you'd like to hear another idea, one that I think will solve both our problems."

Virgil stared back with a face etched in stone, but Samuel saw something else painted all over it. The man was crafty, sure, but not so good at hiding his tells. He would not risk the Master's punishment, so Samuel only needed to wait patiently for him to back down.

At last, the buffoon caved with an audible scoff. "Well, don't keep me waiting," he muttered, sounding like a man who had just eaten his fair share of crow.

Inside his Gnostic helm, Samuel grinned. "Here's what I have in mind …."


	94. Chapter 7: Part XII

**.**

* * *

**Part XII**

_Before Daybreak of Terminus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Autumnmoon_

* * *

The primary infrastructure of Angkor's capital city was on the verge of collapse. A series of well-placed blasts sent cracks racing through the generations-old supports. At the same time, the bedrock surrounding Richard's newly-created cavern—intended to be the cornerstone for the entire framework—was now hollowed out, vaporized by the mad king's misuse of the Ahriman's power. The original builders had devised a system capable of withstanding massive amount of damage, but they had never expected a confluence of both these factors.

The accumulated devastation had finally reached the point when the most essential feature—the Substratum's central stairwell—gave way. Incomprehensible amounts of pressure had finally buckled the last remaining supports, sending the entire concrete structure crashing down.

Bram heard a thunderous roar as soon as the cave-in started. He and his friends had just emerged from Richard's lair, only to find a wall of pulverized rock rushing toward them at great speed. The knight shouted for the others to take cover as a blizzard of powder and dust enveloped them. He held his arm against his mouth, but it did little to stop the chalky bits of stone and mortar from coating his lungs. He doubled over, hacking up congealed Substratum until his throat was raw. When the air cleared, he called out to his friends.

"Is anyone hurt? Mica …? Quon …? Matthias?"

"I'm fine," the gray wizard barked between a fit of coughs.

"Is there any way to use magic to get past this blockage?" Quon asked, pointing to a pile of rocks and boulders in front of him. Once a proud centerpiece of the greatest military compound on Gaia, the central stairwell was now rubble, blocking the only direct route to the surface.

"My teleportation magic won't work," Matthias explained. "I need line of sight for this particular spell."

"Is there no other way?" Mica pressed, shaking loose a plume of pebbles and dust from her hair.

Bram spat another mouthful of pasty crud onto the dusty floor and pointed further down the corridor. "Yes! Just beyond this tunnel is the airship hangar. As long as we can find one that's undamaged, we can fly it to the surface."

Matthias nodded, still hacking to clear his throat. Bram looked over his shoulder to Mica and the Kenju and urged them forward. However, just as he was about to make a dash toward the hangar, he caught sight of a huddled figure, leaning against the side of the tunnel. He had nearly missed it, buried as it was beneath a thick layer of white powder.

"Hold up," he commanded with a raised hand. "Matthias, bring your light over here."

The gray wizard approached with his magical beacon, and Bram recognized the crumpled man immediately.

"It can't be … Cedric!" The knight bent down to reach the craftsman's bruised and battered body. Beneath tattered clothes and an ashen coat, seemingly every inch bore horrendous cuts and scrapes. Bram's heart sank as he noticed the dark swollen orbs where Cedric's ankles should have been. "What have they done to you?"

The craftsman stirred, slowly opening a pair of bloodshot eyes. They seemed distant and out of focus, but soon clarified in recognition. Tears of relief carved miniature canals through the piles of dust covering his cheeks.

"Praise Gaia … I never thought I'd see another human being again!" he cried between chokes. "They held me here against my will … tortured and maimed my body … and left me for dead. I managed to escape, but then the whole place collapsed! I thought I was going to die."

Pity swelled—an emotion that Bram was unprepared to address, since he was still held fast by an urgency to escape. "I don't have time to explain, Cedric, but the only way out of here is by airship. I'll tell you everything as soon as we reach the surface."

"Bless you, Bram, but you're too late! I've already been to the hangar, and the silo that leads out … it has already caved in, and _Zounds_ has been taken."

"_Zounds_?" Bram was unfamiliar with that name.

"It's my latest design for a galleon-class airship," Cedric explained. "They forced me to complete it while imprisoned in the dungeon, and now they've taken it for themselves."

"Who?" Bram demanded. "Who forced you to do this?"

"The king … and his _sadistic_ First Advisor—"

"Virgil!" The word stung like a curse. Bram balled his fist.

"That's the man!" Cedric lamented. "I tell you, he's _evil_. He had my feet broken and left them like _this_." He gestured to the blackened stumps, where once the finest leather shoes resided.

"Don't worry, Cedric," Bram promised, "we're taking you with us."

"But I can't walk … I'll only slow you down."

Bram turned to his friends. "No one gets left behind. Matthias, Mica, can either of you heal this?"

The old wizard bent over. "Let me take a look." He examined Cedric's battered body. His nose scrunched, lips twisted, and eyes opened wide into deep pools of sympathy. He finally shook his head, sighing deeply. "There's not much I can do. I can heal broken bones, but this is something much worse. It's as if Virgil cut off his feet and replaced them with blocks of tar."

"What do you mean?" Bram protested. "There must be a way to reverse the process."

"He is right," Mica confirmed. "White magic can regrow tissue and mend bones, but it will not work unless you have something to start with."

Matthias scoffed. "Unless your Grigori powers can regrow limbs, there's nothing we can do."

Bram wondered, remembering the bright flashes of light that had already worked so many unexpected miracles. If they could rewind time and entrap immortal demons ….

"Maybe they can."

Matthias looked at him dubiously, but the knight was determined. He bent over and laid his hands upon Cedric's legs, trying to summon his powers. He let his feelings guide him, grieved by the injustice, galvanized by empathy, impassioned by his desire to set things right. Cedric deserved to be freed from Virgil's curse. He _would_ walk again!

The exotic magic flowed through Bram's hands, followed by the familiar white light … but it was not enough. The color of Cedric's flesh appeared to lighten, almost matching the rest of his skin, but it only lasted a moment. Bram felt that he could not complete the process without more power.

"Bram, are you sure?"

He felt a grip on his forearm. Matthias' hand. The gray wizard held Bram's arm in check while he pointed downward. Bram's fingers were tightly clenched around the sunstone. Yet, he did not remember taking it out of his belt pouch.

"You saw what happened to Richard when he used that," the wizard warned.

Indeed, Bram understood the danger, but something inside of him wanted to challenge it—to prove that the good intentions in his heart would outweigh the Ahriman's power of dominion. "It's all right, my friend. I don't call upon Abaddon for my own gains. I believe I can use these powers for good."

Matthias looked concerned, but he backed down. Bram brought the sunstone close to Cedric's legs, and reached out to his powers. He drew from the compassion in his heart. It flowed into the sunstone, giving it a soft bluish hue—first a dim cobalt, then a blindingly deep sapphire. The others shielded their eyes from the intense rays. When the sunstone returned to normal and the tunnel finally darkened, Bram looked upon his miracle.

Cedric had his feet completely restored. The craftsman blinked, as if doubting his own eyes. Bram helped him to his feet, and he seemed able to stand on his own. He carried a look of utter disbelief combined with utmost joy—enough to melt any man's heart.

"I don't know what you did," the craftsman sputtered between genuine sobs, "but I thank you!"

Bram opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by a violent crash that shook the foundation of the structure, knocking several people off their feet.

"Get out of the tunnels, _now_!" he shouted.

Everyone bolted for the archway leading to the hangar, but Mica remained steadfast. Bram grabbed her by the arm, but she shook herself free.

"We won't make it all the way through," she explained. "Tell the Elder it was my choice."

"Mica, _no!_"

Bram heard her cast the words of her spell, and he was unable to stop her. Even as she spoke, the roof of the tunnel collapsed. Bram dove to the side, blinded once again by the debris. When the air finally cleared, he saw what Mica had done.

Everyone standing in the tunnel should have been crushed. Instead, a solid stone pillar in Mica's likeness held the ceiling in place.

Bram looked at her in disbelief. He knew that wizards had the power to transmute matter, but to use that power on themselves—to change their bones and flesh into solid stone—was no better than throwing their lives away. He coughed, spewing more grime from his lungs. There was no way he would let her stay in that state, to be … entombed … in this _pit!_ He was still doubled over, trying desperately to expunge the grime from his throat, when he waved to get Matthias' attention.

"We … have to … turn her back!" he uttered between bodily heaves.

The gray wizard shook his head sadly, scattering bits of rock from his beard in all directions. "It's not that simple, Bram. Even if I did have the power, she's now the single support holding up the ceiling. Even if we could change her back, we'd get crushed!"

Bram could not believe what he was hearing. "What do you mean, _if_ you had the power? We must find a way! She's our friend! We're not leaving her down here!"

Rows of creases appeared along the gray wizard's forehead, and his head drooped. "Changing the chemical composition of something into stone is one thing … but turning stone back into flesh is something quite different. Human physiology is extremely complex, and I'm certain that at the end of the incantation, you'd prefer to have a living and breathing priestess, and not just a hunk of meat!"

Bram cursed loudly. "Are you saying we can't save her? Or are you unwilling to try?"

Quon stepped forward amid continued crashes in the distance. "This is painful for all of us, Bram, but we cannot stay any longer." His eyes were pleading. "We risk another collapse the longer we debate it!"

Bram took a few steps back, his gaze shifting from one face to another, desperately searching for support. "Why am I the only one? She risked her life for all of us, yet we would not do the same for her?"

Bram's heart broke as he faced his friends. Kenju Master and warriors, Grand Craftsman, gray wizard—all of them wore sorry expressions, but no one stepped forward with an answer.

The knight looked back down to his belt pouch, tempted to use the sunstone. Mica did not deserve to end her life so young … not like this! She had a future as a high priestess, full of love and dedication.

"Let me try," he begged. "Cedric, find an airship and get it started. Everyone else should go with him. I'll remain behind."

The craftsman put an arm on Bram's shoulder. "Gaia be with you."

Quon appeared torn, but as he looked to his men, Bram realized why the honorable warrior was so insistent.

"Quon, your duty is to protect your men. Take them out of harm's way. I promise to catch up soon."

The Kenju Master nodded and followed Cedric out of the tunnel. Bram watched them go, amid the sounds of explosions.

"You, too, Matthias."

The gray wizard shook his head. "You might as well get on with it. I'm not going anywhere."

Bram smiled back, but he did not want to waste any more precious time. He closed his eyes and took the sunstone in hand, thinking back to Minoa. He wanted to reach for a memory—an emotion—that mattered. He thought back to when he was injured, at the lowest point in his life. He was about to receive retribution from an angry mob of villagers—stones in hand, aimed, ready to fire. If Mica had not stepped forward to defend him, he would have been maimed then killed in a horrible and painful way. She had known he was a Gnostic Knight, yet never faltered in her duties. She treated him as a person. She did not judge, and was ready to grant forgiveness in an instant, even though her parents had been murdered and her life turned upside down by Bram's own brethren.

He opened his eyes, watching the sunstone begin to glow. It shined brighter, fueled by his desire to help. Its light was ready to engulf the passage, when the ground shook violently. He felt someone grab him, and before he knew it, he was inside the airship hangar.

Matthias had used his spell of teleportation to wrest him from the passage, just before it had collapsed. His entire body clenched when he realized that Mica was still in the tunnel.

"No!" he screamed. "Matthias, it was going to work! The sunstone would have saved her! We need to go back!"

"Bram, pull yourself together!" Matthias stared him down, his lips pressed tightly together. "We've been through a lot together, and I care about Mica just as much as you do. But it's too late, and if you can't let it go, her sacrifice will have been in vain! Look around you!"

Bram scanned the cavern … and what he saw nearly crippled him. Giant boulders fell from the ceiling, the air hazy with dust and ash. Wrecked airships lay cluttered in piles in the middle of the cavern—the corpses of vessels that had failed to escape. Even the silo itself was heavily damaged, cracked and on the verge of collapse. All prospects of escape grew dimmer by the moment.

"You have my word, Bram," the gray wizard proclaimed. "When this is all over, we'll come back for her. Her body is safe in its current state. Even if we have to dig through a hundred spans of rubble, I swear I'll be here with you to change her back."

Bram knew the old man spoke the truth. The knight did not want to let go, but as the walls continued to buckle, he knew it was now or never. So he repressed his fury, pulled back his tears, and directed Matthias forward. Even as he ran, he cast a final glance back at the collapsed tunnel where Mica's statue would wait in eternal stasis.

He scanned the cavern, searching for where Cedric and the others had gone.

"There!" Matthias pointed.

Bram smiled wide. Far against the back wall was a familiar sight. Cedric had chosen well. "It's the _Heron_," he told the wizard. "If there's any ship I trust due to its speed and maneuverability, this is the one. Quickly now!"

Together, he and Matthias sprinted toward the ship. Cedric and Quon met them at the boarding platform.

"The engine is already primed and started," the craftsman explained. "I'll remain below, where the controls will give me better maneuverability."

"Bram, you and I need to go on deck," Matthias suggested. "Between your Grigori magic and my white wizardry, we can make sure this rubble doesn't end up crushing us."

Bram nodded as he waved his team onward. "Quon, you and the Kenju stay below, where it's safer. We don't want anyone getting hit by falling debris."

Each man hurried on his separate way. As soon as Bram stepped onto the deck, he felt a jerk as the ship sprang into the air. The knight looked above to the horrifying sight of rocks and boulders falling right toward him. Matthias uttered an incantation that pushed the debris out of the way, clearing the _Heron's_ path toward the central silo. Large cracks ran up the sides of the vertical tunnel, and the whole structure looked ready to burst.

He was grateful to have Cedric at the helm. The _Heron_ was one of the craftsman's most personal designs, with elements of his character seeming to ebb from every corner. Even from deep within the engine room, Cedric piloted the vessel masterfully.

Bram summoned his own powers, adding to Matthias' efforts. It felt a little clumsy at first, but with some focus, he was successful at manipulating the dangerous projectiles out of harm's way. The _Heron_ zig-zagged up the vertical passage, while Bram and Matthias cleared the way.

As they neared the top, Bram caught sight of a major blockage, and eyed the gray wizard nervously.

"I don't know if I have the strength to break through it," Matthias confessed. "Even our combined powers may not be enough."

Bram saw only one answer. "I'll use the sunstone."

Matthias nodded. "It worked before … and besides, if we don't make it out, then all's for naught."

Bram gripped the crystal-like object firmly in hand. He focused on making it past the blockage … on reaching the surface alive. The transparent stone was suddenly a deep azure, and for a brief moment, Bram saw something inside. It was not the Ahriman, but something else—a benevolent spirit who wished to impart its knowledge. Bram recalled witnessing this figure previously, back when he first touched the sunstone in Minoa, and again when he had handed it off to King Richard. It spoke—not through verbal instructions, but directly into the knight's subconscious. Muscles tensed and fingers danced as ancient wisdom flooded his body. He let it flow, and the light of the sunstone shined so brightly that the entire silo turned a deep cerulean.

His powers did not remove the blockage, but rather caused the stone to transmute into grains of sand that shifted like ripples on a pond. Bram braced for what he thought would be a lethal impact, but the tiny grains slid harmlessly to the side, allowing the _Heron_ to fly straight to the surface.

At last, the ship broke through, flying high into the early morning sky. The remaining grains of sand cascaded off in all directions as the _Heron_ slowed its upward momentum. Bram felt something warm on his face. In the distance, the first rays of sunlight ebbed from the eastern horizon.

Cedric and the Kenju emerged on the deck wearing happy smiles and high spirits. Matthias turned around and gave Bram a hug—the last thing he ever expected from the cantankerous old man.

"You did it, my friend," Matthias congratulated happily.

Bram hugged back, amazed he had actually escaped alive, though still feeling bittersweet that a young priestess was not there to enjoy it with them.

"Well done, you two!" Quon congratulated. His Kenju all celebrated around him.

"Thank Gaia, we're finally free!" Cedric praised.

Bram regarded the rising sun as it illuminated the world around him. The breeze never smelled so sweet, and the birds never sounded so peaceful.

"Look," Matthias pointed to the ground below.

Bram turned his attention toward Angkor's capital. The entire Inner Sanctum lay in ruins. Not only that, but the underground infrastructure had collapsed, forming a giant sinkhole that swallowed most of the buildings. The destruction was vast, and whatever remained was unrecognizable. Bram wondered how many innocents had lost their lives so that Angkor's mad king could be defeated. Fortunately, the nearby city of Niedam had been spared. Besides the layers of dust coating nearby buildings, the city seemed untouched.

From the side, Bram heard the sound of approaching airships, and he tore his eyes from the ruins of his city. His first worry was that Angkor's fleet had finally mobilized, but instead he was pleasantly surprised to see Kitezhian vessels—which was also rather baffling, since they were supposed to have been scrapped following the War.

Cedric pointed to the largest of the ships, which had mounted a skybridge on its  
deck—essentially, a wooden structure used to cross in between two airborne vessels. "Bram, I think they want to come on board. Should we allow it?"

"I don't think we have a choice," Bram responded. "Let's see what they want."

The ship approached with skybridge extended. When the structure was secure, a band of Kitezhian soldiers transferred over.

"Don't move," one of them commanded, as they surrounded Bram and his companions. A circle of swords pointed at their throats.

"We're friends of Kitezh," Bram explained, but the soldiers did not respond.

Finally, a man who Bram recognized crossed the bridge.

The knight was at a loss of words. "Géorg …? Géorg Töller? You were behind the attack?"

The one-armed man waved away Bram's questions and smiled. "Sir Morrison, it is good to see you, my friend. And what a surprise it is to see Master Deleuze as well. Good morning, sirs."

Matthias nodded politely, but looked as confused as Bram felt.

"I see that some explanations are in order," Géorg offered. Bram listened as the one-armed man described the liberation of Rungholt from Angkor's occupation, the negotiations for refurbished airships from the Saladina Clan Lords, and King Unruh's bold plans for a counter-attack while Angkor was at their weakest. It was a daring strategy, but one that clearly paid off.

"_King _Unruh?" Bram asked. "I don't understand. What about Prince Brandt? Didn't he ever make it back?"

Géorg shook his head, looking confused. "No, Bram. Heinz Unruh is acting surrogate king in the heir's absence. Actually, I had hoped the prince was still with you."

Bram was aghast. "He sailed from Tiahuanaco more than ten days ago. Something could have happened to him!"

I would not jump to conclusions," Géorg advised. "The weather along the northern coast of Kitezh has been turbulent of late. It may have delayed his ship, but I'm sure he will arrive in Rungholt any day now."

Bram was worried, but he figured there would be plenty of Kitezhian men keeping a keen watch out for the heir of their kingdom. He sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right. At any rate, we have much to discuss. It's urgent that we brief King Unruh on the threat of the sunstones. If you'd like, we can follow your ship back to Rungholt."

"Actually, Sir Morrison, we can brief the king from here. We have a magical portal aboard our airship that was conjured by our greatest of white wizards, Lady White. By using it, we can speak to His Majesty remotely."

Bram felt relieved, marveling at how glad he was to be speaking with Géorg, instead of some Kitezhian bureaucrat. The one-armed man had always been so helpful … if only there was a way of giving him something in return.

An idea suddenly occurred to Bram. His hand dug into his belt pouch. "Mister Töller, before we speak with your king, there's something I'd like to give you."

Géorg raised his eyebrows. "For me?"

Bram nodded. "Not too long ago, you offered to help me when I needed it the most. You gave me transportation to Kitezh when I had given you no reason to trust me, and you even took us to the Kitezhian marshes to find the cure for Rosa. She would have never survived the magical toxin without you. And yet, you've never been compensated, or even thanked properly. I owe a debt, Mister Töller, and if you'll allow me, I'd like to repay it now."

"Sir Morrison, I assure you no recompense is necessary—"

"Mister Töller," Bram pressed, "you're a good man who had something taken from you long ago. My gift is that it shall be returned."

Bram used the Pisces Stone from his pouch and cast his healing power through it, just has he had done with Cedric. A soothing ultramarine light enveloped the airship, even going so far as to light the surrounding landscape. Those onboard averted their eyes, yet Bram pressed on until the very end.

When he finished, he was overcome with exhaustion. All of the spell-casting had finally caught up to him, but fortunately it was enough. His knees gave out and he fell forward, only to be caught in Géorg's arms. Bram heard the Kitezhian man suck in a deep breath, realizing he had not one, but _two arms_. He beheld his gift with joyous eyes.

Quon stepped forward to help Bram to his feet, while Géorg stared at his second arm in disbelief.

"Sir, are you all right?" one of his officers asked.

"Ye—yes," Géorg responded. "In fact, I have not felt this … whole … in a long time."

Suddenly, the Kitezhians realized what had happened, and they began talking amongst themselves.

"It's magic!" one of them shouted.

"The knight healed him!" cried another.

The crowd cheered. It was a celebration of people who had witnessed a miracle … of men who had just vanquished a bitter enemy … and the simple joy of seeing one more sunrise.

The jubilation did not last long, however. One of the soldiers behind Bram gave a shout, and it stole everyone's attention. The knight looked to where the man pointed along the horizon. "Angkor approaches!"

Sure enough, another ship had entered their airspace not far off of starboard—this one of Angkorian design. The Kitezhians snapped to attention, ready to return to their ship to defend themselves.

"Hold on!" Cedric called out. "They've lowered their cannons, a sign of peaceful intentions."

"I see it, too," Géorg agreed. He sent orders to his troops to stand down.

The Kitezhians carried forward hand signals to communicate Géorg's orders to the other ships.

Much in the same way that the Kitezhian ship had boarded the _Heron_, this new ship readied its skybridge on the opposite side. A number of Angkorian soldiers stood ready, making room for what appeared to be their commanding officer. It was a Templar. He crossed over and began removing his helm … but somehow, Bram already knew who it was.

"Kane, _damn you!_" he roared, weeks' worth of repressed anger suddenly brought to a boil. "You dare show your face here?" Quon and Matthias stood by his side, ready to back him up.

"You have some nerve, Templar," the Kenju Master threatened. Similar sentiments came in murmurs from many others.

"What do you want?" Géorg demanded. "We have you outnumbered and surrounded with a fleet of ships. And if you doubt what we can do, then look upon your city below!" Géorg gestured to the ruins of Angkor's capital.

Kane sneered. "This message is not for you, _Kitezhian_! It's for Bram only. Tell your hounds to back down!" An ugly malice lingered in the air. Many on the ship scowled in response.

"I'm right here," Bram challenged. "But you'd better make your point quickly, or I won't stop Géorg from defending his honor."

"Very well," the Templar removed the emotion from his voice, turning it stone cold. "First I should congratulate you on defeating the mighty Abaddon. You finally have a sunstone in your possession."

"Is that what you want?" Bram goaded. "Why don't you to try to take it!"

Kane scowled. "That's not how this is going to work. I have a bargain for you, _old friend_."

Quon placed his hand on Bram's shoulder, whispering some counsel. "I suggest we cease any barter with this man. We can easily overpower his ship, then interrogate him to find out what he knows."

Bram shook his head, whispering. "He's too smart to enter into a situation that he can't walk away from."

The knight turned toward his betrayer, projecting his voice. "What is it, Kane? What could you possibly have as leverage?"

Kane sneered derisively. "Have you forgotten already? We have Rosa Reynolds."

Bram's heart leapt at hearing her name. "She's alive?" The words slipped out of his mouth without thinking.

Kane grinned wickedly. "Only as long as you do as you're told."

Bram growled, his blood like a tea kettle ready to blow. "You expect me to just hand over the sunstone! You're crazy! You haven't even proven she's alive!"

Matthias stepped forward. "Bram, you need to end this—now! We can't let this filthy liar tempt us with mere words. Not after what it took to get this far!"

Bram whispered through clenched teeth. "Matthias, _please_!"

Kane only laughed. "Discord in the ranks, already? Don't worry, we're not asking you to hand over the Pisces Stone, anyway."

"Then what is it?" Bram bellowed, tired of Kane's mocking. "State your demands, or I won't hesitate to extract the information the _hard_ way!"

Kane's smile faded, and he was back to business. "A few days ago, the Capricorn Stone of Vineta was stolen from the city of Kish by the Elfen king, Arcesilaus. We'd like you to travel to Garda and recover it. Keep the Pisces Stone if you want. We no longer need it. You'll have one week, then I'll contact you. You had better have it by then, or we'll kill her."

Bram spat in his direction. "You're a monster! If you so much as touch her, I swear—"

"Don't make threats you can't keep," Kane taunted. "This offer won't be given twice, and should you try to block my escape, you'll seal her fate."

The Templar shot back a smug grin before returning to his airship.

"Bram!" Géorg hissed. "We cannot let him go—"

"You must!" Bram pleaded. "I need a chance to buy some time!"

Géorg sighed deeply. "I trust you, Bram, and Gaia knows, I owe you. But King Unruh is not going to like it."

The restored two-armed man turned to his men and gestured, and they repeated the sign to the other airships. It did not take long before Kane's airship passed the horizon.

When it was finally out of range, Bram let out a pent-up breath of frustration, burying his face in his hands. His childhood friend's final twist of the knife would not soon be forgotten. But now there was the matter of what to do about it.

Bram's body was tense. He felt isolated and alone, until a hand landed on his shoulder. Several more followed. Quon, Cedric, Matthias, and Géorg had all gathered around him.

The Kenju Master looked directly into Bram's eyes, his gaze steady and noble. "You have made some very difficult decisions this day, my friend. I cannot speak for the others, but I know that your heart has been in the right place and has never wavered. So I want you to know that I support you."

"So do I," Géorg echoed.

Cedric took a step forward. "You saved my life. I'll do whatever it takes to help keep Rosa alive."

Matthias looked at the others, then back to Bram. "I already told you. I won't be leaving anytime soon."

For a while, Bram had thought he was going to sink back into despair. He had come so far as a Grigori Knight, but it only took a moment with his betrayer Kane for all the anger and hatred in his heart to nearly overtake him. If not for the support of his friends, the feelings he thought he had cast aside as a Gnostic Knight were ready to return, and the silver Grigori armor by itself would not have kept them at bay.

Fortunately, the oppressive feelings subsided, and hope was ready to return. He stared out toward the sky in the direction of Kane's airship, where a gentle and soothing sun rose in its place. It warmed his skin, and his lungs filled with crisp morning air. He was a thousand spans above the planet, full of the same sense of wonder he had remembered from his earliest days of riding aboard an airship. He was moved to tell his friends exactly how he felt.

"Rosa's alive, and I'm grateful to have the support of this team behind me. Together, I just know that we can be victorious. We've already recovered one of the sunstones. Now let's go get another!"

* * *

_**~ The End ~**_

**Book 1: The Wanton Kingdom**

* * *

**Author's note:** I wanted to give a heartfelt thanks to anyone who has read this story in its entirety. It means so much to me to share my writing with the world, which has taken me years to get to this point. All I ask in return is for my readers to take the time to write a review. Whether you loved the story or not, your feedback is important to me. It's one of the reasons I keep on writing, and I take every piece of feedback to heart. Most of the edits in my rewrites are from reader suggestions. So please, take a few minutes, and write a sentence or two.

Thank you!  
\- Jeffrey Howard


	95. Glossary of Terms

.

* * *

**Glossary**

* * *

_~ Miscellaneous ~_

* * *

**Units of Measurement:**

1 Foot = average male foot  
1 Span = average male step forward, about 3 feet  
1 League = average distance a person walks in 1 hour, about 3 miles

**Days of the Week:**

Primoris: first day of the week  
Denuo: second day of the week  
Tertius: third day of the week  
Quartus: fourth day of the week  
Diapente: fifth day of the week  
Terminus: sixth day of the week (weekend)  
Somnus: seventh day of the week (weekend)

**Months:**

Wintermoon: First month of the year  
Icemoon: Second month of the year  
Newmoon: Third month of the year  
Springmoon: Fourth month of the year  
Watermoon: Fifth month of the year  
Solsticemoon: Sixth month of the year  
Summermoon: Seventh month of the year  
Fullmoon: Eighth month of the year  
Harvestmoon: Ninth month of the year  
Autumnmoon: Tenth month of the year  
Duskmoon: Eleventh month of the year  
Darkmoon: Twelfth month of the year

* * *

_~ People ~_

* * *

**Blair**: a general in the Angkorian army.

**Bram [Brahm]**: see Morrison, Abraham.

**Brandt, Henrich [Brant, HEN-rick]**: the well-respected king and ruler Kitezh.

**Brandt, Józef [Brant, YO-sef]**: the heir to the throne of Kitezh. He is sixteen years old, and has the responsibility of inheriting his father's kingdom. However, his dream has always been to be a musician, and he has a history of running away from home under the guise of a bard or circus performer. His favorite instrument is a lute.

**Chaucer [CHAW-ser]**: an investigator from one of Angkor's police units.

**Cedric [SED-rick]**: see Curtis, Cedric.

**Clairvaux, Isabella [clair-VO, IZ-a-BELL-a]**: a fictional fairy-tale character with awesome healing abilities. While growing up, she was the inspiration for Rosa Reynolds to become a white wizard.

**Connor**: The foreman who works for Cedric Curtis.

**Cortez, Samuel**: a Gnostic Knight in King Richard's army. He is well-trained in both swordsmanship as well as black wizardry. Along with Virgil Garvey, he seeks the four sunstones.

**Cromwell, Richard**: the king of Angkor. He is forty-five years old, and originally served as a general under the previous king. However, when the king and heir died in a supposed hunting accident, he made a coup for the crown. He successfully defeated Kitezh and Koba in the War, and ever since has been craving greater ambitions. He believes that acquiring the four sunstones will help him achieve his goal.

**Curtis, Cedric [KER-tiss, SED-rick]**: the Grand Craftsman of Angkor. He is thirty-nine years old, and grew up as the poor son of a fisherman. In a true rags-to-riches tale, Cedric used his skills as a shipwright to invent air travel, which redefined warfare and made him extremely wealthy. He is a prudent and intelligent man, but hesitant to take any risks.

**Deleuze, Matthias [dell-OOZE, MATH-ee-us]**: a wise sage from Vineta. He is sixty-seven years old, and has studied the magical arts for most of his life. His wild emotional state enables him to do what most other wizards cannot, which is to cast both white and black magic. His peers have given him the very rare designation of gray wizard.

**Deleuze, Angela [dell-OOZE, AN-gel-ah]**: the daughter of Matthias Deleuze. She ran away from home with a performer who was really the prince of Kitezh.

**Eckerd, Mason [ECK-erd, MAY-son]**: an old friend of Cedric Curtis. He has been a long time supplier of parts that Cedric has used to build his airships. They have a long-standing professional relationship.

**Eckerd, Adam [ECK-erd, Adam]**: the son of Mason Eckerd.

**Erik**: a butler who works for Cedric Curtis.

**Fry**: an officer in the Angkorian army.

**Garvey, Virgil [GAR-vee, VER-jill]**: a new advisor to King Richard Cromwell. His mysterious entrance into Angkorian politics has many speculating over his origins. Along with Samuel Cortez, he seeks the four sunstones.

**Géorg [GAY-ORG]**: see Töller, Géorg.

**Harding, Kane**: he was Bram's best friend from childhood, and a Templar in King Richard's service. He is thirty-one years old, and initially enlisted in the Order of Templars while studying at the Academy. After joining, he and Bram lost contact.

**Higgins**: an officer in the Angkorian army.

**Jean [Zhawn]**: an old white wizard who had once been Rosa Reynolds' teacher in white wizardry. He originally came from the country of Vineta.

**Józef [YO-sef]**: see Brandt, Józef.

**Kane**: see Harding, Kane.

**Konrad**: see Rommel, Konrad.

**Lady/Lord Black**: the title given to Kitezh's most powerful black wizard.

**Lady/Lord White**: the title given to Kitezh's most powerful white wizard.

**Marcus**: an old friend of Bram's family.

**Matthias [MATH-ee-us]**: see Deleuze, Matthias.

**Mica [MY-kuh]**: a young Gaian Priestess from Minoa. She is sixteen years old, and many consider her to be very talkative.

**Morrison, Abraham (Bram) [Brahm]**: the protagonist of the story. He is twenty-nine years old soldier, and a Gnostic Knight serving under King Richard. He was one of the youngest to achieve his rank—a noteworthy achievement. He has no recollection of his birth parents, but was raised by two Angkorian farmers. Many consider him cold and emotionless, but Bram examines his conscience more than the average Gnostic.

**Nan, Katharina [Nahn, CAT-ah-REEN-ah]: **the wife of Quon Nan. She is originally from Kitezh, and tends to be much more liberal than her conservative husband.

**Nan, Quon [Nahn, Kwahn]**: the current Kenju Master of Koba. He is thirty-four years old, and inherited his father's role after Wong Fei was killed during the War. He was raised by a conservative family, but in spite of that married interracially with a Kitezhian woman. He is an honorable person, and strives for perfection.

**Nan, Wong Fei [Nahn, WONG-fay]**: the father of Quon Nan. He fought during the War as Koba's Kenju Master, but received a fatal wound. He remains one of Koba's most respected warriors.

**Peng, Zhao [Pang, Zow]**: the emperor of Koba. He is sixty-three years old, and served as emperor during the War. He still reigns, and is well respected, due to his success in rebuilding his country following Angkor's victory. He comes from House Agriculture, one of Koba's six royal families.

**Quon [Kwahn]**: see _Nan, Quon_.

**Reynolds, Rosalyn (Rosa)**: a white wizard, and Bram's romantic interest. She is twenty-five years old, and fought alongside Bram during the War. Since then, the two have grown distant. Her father is a wealthy banker, but she rebelled at a young age in order to study white magic. She is strong willed and used to hardships, but also very sensitive.

**Reynolds, Tom**: the father of Rosa Reynolds, he run the Royal Bank of Angkor.

**Richard: **See Cromwell, Richard

**Rommel, Friedreich [RAH-mull, FRED-rick]**: the father of Konrad Rommel, and one of Kitezh's most respected generals. He raised his son with a very strict upbringing.

**Rommel, Konrad [RAH-mull, CON-RAD]**: the Primary Minister to King Henrich Brandt. He is forty-two years old, and has been loyal to the Brandt family for a very long time.

**Rosa**: see Reynolds, Rosalyn.

**Samir [sah-MEER]**: a Clan Lord from Saladin who made his riches from the aftermath of the War.

**Töller, Géorg [TOOL-er, GAY-ORG]**: a Kitezhian soldier who took up residence in Saladin after losing his arm in battle. He is a thirty-six year old who is well learned in herb lore and makes his money by selling rare medicines. He uses a Kitezhian invention known as a sandskipper to find these rare herbs in the desert.

**Unruh, Heinz [UN-roo, Hīnz]**: the Minister of Security in Kitezh. He is forty-four years old, and a practical man who loves his country. However, he has been dissatisfied with the current rulership under the Brandt family.

**Uriana (Yuri) [YER-ee-AHN-uh] [YER-ee]**: a child from the Conjurion tribe in the Mountains of Ur. She is six years old, and has exceptional magical talents.

**Vance, Maurice [Vanse, moor-EESE]**: A scholar and wizard who researched the sunstones before he mysteriously disappeared, thirty years prior. His journals supposedly hold first-hand accounts of the sunstone's powers, but many have cast skepticism on this notion, since the journals were never found.

**Virgil [VER-jill]**: see Garvey, Virgil.

* * *

_~ Places ~_

* * *

**Angkor [AIN-core]**: a country on the southern edge of the Northern Continent. To the east is the nation of Koba, north is the Saladina Desert and Mountains of Ur, and west is the nation of Vineta. The capital city of Angkor is also named Angkor.

**Ek' Balam [ECK-ball-OM]**: a nation on the Southern Continent.

**Elflands**: home to the Elfen people. It is a small country on the Northern Continent, north of the nation of Vineta.

**Gaia [GUY-ah]**: the name of the planet. And to those of the Gaian religion, the planet itself is a Goddess with the same name.

**Garda**: the capital of the Elflands.

**Glacial Ocean**: an ocean to the north of the Northern Continent. It borders the northern coasts of the Elflands, Kitezh, and Koba.

**Great Crevasse**: a canyon that runs for many leagues across the arid plains of Minoa. Its history plays a pivotal role in the Gaian religion. The Ancient Minoan culture built great temples in the same area, but they were all destroyed when the ground opened up and the crevasse was created. The reasons why remain a mystery.

**Great Ocean**: the largest body of water on Gaia, located in between the Northern and Southern continents.

**Kish**: a large city in Vineta. It is home to the eight clerics and also to one of the four sunstones.

**Kitezh [kit-ESH]**: a country on the north side of the Northern Continent. To the east is the nation of Koba, to the south is the Saladina Desert, and to the West are the Elflands. Kitezh aligned with the nation of Koba and fought against Angkor during the War, but they were still defeated.

**Koba**: a country on the east side of the Northern Continent. To their west are the nations of Angkor and Kitezh, as well as the Saladina Desert. Koba aligned with the nation of Kitezh and fought against Angkor during the War, but they were still defeated.

**Malden [MALL-den]**: a nation on the Southern Continent.

**Minoa [min-OH-uh]**: it was once the hub of the Gaian religion and a very influential nation hundreds of years ago. However, in modern times, Minoa has become a home for refugees displaced by the War. It is also home to one of the four sunstones.

**Mount Abakai [AB-uh-Kī]**: a mountain range that spans across the nations of Koba and Kitezh. It was used as a caravan route during the War.

**Niedam [NEED-um]**: a large city in Angkor adjacent to the capital.

**Northern Continent**: one of the two major landmasses on the planet. It is the location for Angkor, Kitezh, Vineta, Koba, Saladin, and the Elflands.

**Saladin (also: Saladina Desert) [SAL-uh-DEEN, SAL-uh-DEEN-uh]**: a territory in the center of the Northern Continent. Also, it is the name of the central city. Saladin has no central government, but many will argue that it is ruled by the Clan Lords. Many use this region as a hub for travel in between adjacent nations.

**Rungholt**: the capital city of Kitezh. It is also home to one of the four sunstones.

**Southern Continent**: one of the two major landmasses on the planet. It is the location of the nations of Ek' Balam and Malden.

**Tiahuanaco [TEE-uh-WAN-uh-koh]**: the capital city of Koba. It is also home to one of the four sunstones.

**Ur [YOUR]**: a region in the mountains to the north-west of Angkor. It is home to the Conjurion tribe.

**Vineta [vin-EET-uh]**: a country on the west side of the Northern Continent. To their east is the nation of Angkor, and the Saladina Desert, and to their north are the Elflands. The country is well known for its dense forest regions, and its history of drawing academics to its school of magical study, known as the Nexus.

* * *

_~ Things ~_

* * *

**Academy:** a school in Angkor for higher education and preparation for military placement.

**Ahrimen:** an old story tells of four demons known as the Ahrimen that pitted the forces of evil against mankind, until they were sealed away for all eternity.

**Airship: **flying vessels that provide a means of air transport. Some of them resemble sea vessels, while others are more modern. They use a combination of magic and steam propulsion.

**Archives**: a great library in Angkor's capital city that many claim to hold the world's greatest repository for knowledge.

**Catacombs**: a series of tunnels within Angkor's Substratum that were designed to confuse prisoners that escaped from the dungeons.

**Chiroptera [Kī-rop-TARE-uh]**: a species of spawn that resembles single-eyed bat creatures the size of a man's torso. These creatures mostly pose only a minor annoyance, compared to other stronger spawn.

**Clan Lord**: a term given to those in the free territory of Saladin who carry great influence in their society. They are typically very wealthy, having accumulated their riches in the aftermath of the War.

**Conjurions [con-JUR-ree-ens]**: a race of people who live in a region north-west of Angkor, called the Mountains of Ur. There are rumors that they have the ability to call forth mythical creatures known as aeons.

**Corvusaur [CORE-vuh-SAR]**: a large and very dangerous spawn that resembles a mix between a blackbird and a serpent. They are dangerous creatures with sharp claws and barbs in their wings which can paralyze their victims when fired.

**Elfen People [EL-fin]**: not to be confused with elves, these people have a strong background in nature and magic, and tend to isolate themselves from the rest of the world. They live north of the country of Vineta.

**Firebomb**: an explosive device used by airships to deliver devastating fire attacks.

**Gaian Religion [GUY-en]**: an ancient creed that worshipped the goddess of the planet, Gaia. Though it has fallen out of favor over the centuries, it has recently gained in popularity, due to the poverty in the wake of the War.

**Gnostic Knight [NOSS-tick]**: a unit in the Angkorian military that reports directly and independently to the king. In the post-war era, they have been used for special-ops missions. Their reputations are notorious for instilling fear and respect, and have been attributed to many atrocities during the War.

**Inner Sanctum**: A district in Angkor's capital city.

**Kenju Warriors [KEN-Joo]**: a military unit from Koba made from elite soldiers who train in a form of combat that leverages speed and agility. Their preferred weapon is the tiger-paw, which fits over the hand, but has thin retractable knives over each of the digits except for the thumb.

**Network**: a series of underground passageways below the Kitezhian capital of Rungholt. They were built by extending the old city waterways, and spread wide throughout the city and surrounding hills. There are many hidden ingress points.

**Omega War:** according to old stories, this war was waged by four demons called the Ahrimen, creatures that had once pitted the forces of evil against mankind, until they were sealed away for all eternity.

**Outer Sanctum**: A district in Angkor's capital city.

**Servant's Highway**: a magical conduit used to connect the Ancient Gaian temples, so that priests could easily access and maintain them.

**Spawn**: a term used to describe animals or creatures that have been corrupted by evil magic. Some have even been known to cast magic, but so far, none have been found to be intelligent. No one knows where they came from, but they first appeared on the battlefields of the War. They have an insatiable appetite for killing, and have spread throughout the land. They live in caves, forests, oceans, and even the sky itself, and pose an increasing threat to mankind.

**Substratum**: a series of underground passageways built below Angkor's capital city. It spans many levels below the ground, and contains many services suitable to a military compound.

**Templars**: an order of warrior that swears a loyal oath in service to the king of Angkor. They are used as sentries in Angkor's capital city, as well as personal bodyguards to the king.

**Titan**: Specific to this story, it represents a gigantic beast with astounding strength.

**The War**: a ten-year conflict between the nations of the Northern Continent. A dispute over borders led to a war between Angkor, Koba, and Kitezh—three of the world's most powerful nations. Angkor eventually emerged as the victor.

**Unification Day**: a holiday that commemorates the union of the two countries that later became known as Angkor.

**Viscar**: equestrian-sized mounts resembling lizards with long pointed ears. Humans have mostly domesticated these creatures, but some are known to exist in the wild. They provide comfortable travel and can go longer distances than a horse.

**Zounds**: an airship design that stands for Zero Operations and Unlimited Navigations Defense System. The technology going into this vessel allows it to be completely automated. It uses state-of-the-art in propulsion and stealth, and implements a form of condensed magic known as manna. It is referred to as a Galleon-Class airship, due to its extremely large size.


	96. Afterward

**.**

* * *

**The Secret of the Sunstones**

**Book 1:**  
**The Wanton Kingdom**

_By Jeffrey Howard_

**_\- Afterward -_**

* * *

I wanted to once again thank the readers who made it through this story. It's now several months after I posted the last chapter, and I see it's now slipped far enough down the stack that reader hits are practically non-existent. I therefore wanted to add an Afterward, to talk about my thoughts and plans, and see if it attracts any new attention.

First of all, building this story has been a growth experience for me. I think the first time I sat down and started writing my first words was about 12 years ago. Since then, I've built a 215k word story with thousands of edits and 7 entire beginning-to-end revisions. I've had plenty of reader and beta-reader participation, but only a few people have made it all the way to the end. I'm not too discouraged by that.

I know this section of Fanfiction is fairly niche, that the readers here have their own lives, their own priorities, and their own desires for what they'd like to see in a story. Sadly, I'm out of ideas for how to get more readers from this site, so I've started to look elsewhere for ways to get the story out there.

I've printed up 25 copies from a website called bookbaby dot com, which makes incredible printouts that pretty much look exactly like a real book. It was a wonderful experience just to hold all 546 pages in my hands, feel the nice glossy cover, and look at the illustrations that I had commissioned by a local artist. This book really means a lot to me. I've put so much of my life into it. Where do I go from here?

Well, I've already started posting Book 2, and I have the third book already outlined, so there's plenty of more writing left. I spent a bunch of time with revisions over the last several months, but I really feel that I broke through to a new level of quality, and I'd be excited if new or former readers wanted to check it out.

If you haven't yet read Secret of the Sunstones, it would mean a lot to me to have you stop by and leave a review. Judging by the page hits, very few people actually leave reviews relative to total visitors, but the ones who have really made it worth while. The review count is standing at 118 at the time of this writing, which ain't too bad. I'm really grateful to have had a faithful reader base.

As many people have noticed, the story is a lot like Final Fantasy IV, but it's also very different. So much of the content is brand new and goes in very different directions compared to game canon. As such, I'd like to search for a copyright lawyer to help me determine if it's "different enough" that it doesn't count as a derivative art, or possibly get a license from Square Enix if it does. At that point, I'd like to publish it and take it broader. That would be my dream.

In the meantime, it's here for free to whoever wants to read it. I hope a few more people decide to stop by.

Thanks to everyone who made it far enough to read this.

Best regards,  
\- Jeffrey Howard


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